


Ambitions Beyond The Stars

by Jupiterra



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: AmeRus - Freeform, Complete, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Long story is long, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Politics, RusAme, Space Gays, but not too much politics, most of the nations show up, rusame is focus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-23 00:34:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 47
Words: 49,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12494416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jupiterra/pseuds/Jupiterra
Summary: America seems unhappy these days, and his latest boss is causing trouble. Unexpectedly, Alfred makes a  strange request to Ivan of all nations. Will Russia agree to the bloody task?





	1. Chapter 1

American politics could be so volatile, yet entertaining. No one had expected such a sharp change in Alfred's disposition after the American elections. Granted, the happy blonde was mildly affected by his frequent leader changes. But never had the blue eyed blonde seemed so calm and collected before at a world meeting. Normally he was sleeping or bouncing off the walls with stupid ideas. 

Ivan, the immortal symbol of Russia, watched with immense interest. He was curious as Alfred wore a trademark Hollywood smile, not listening to the current speaker like usual. Canada's speech about a political trend towards extreme bipartisanship was ignored by most anyway. Russia jotted down the highlights, only pretending disinterest. He loved to make the nearly invisible country squirm like that.

Royal purple eyes swept back to Alfred, surprised to lock with beautiful blue. The younger seemed to be sizing him up, analyzing the taller ash blonde nation. Finally his real smile showed through. The expression existed only a short time but it was so warm. Alfred then resumed dissecting the rest of the room with his eyes, being noticeably more subtle than usual.

Happy to see his plucky American scheming much like himself, Ivan returned to the same hobby. When the meeting finally ended, Ivan trailed behind. He could hear Alfred arguing hotly with his former motherland in the hall outside. “I'm fine. Leave my leaders to me, Arthur!” the loud mouthed American yelled, stomping off somewhere. “Boy, you don't know what mess you're in now!” Arthur rebutted, always wanting the last word.

Ivan used extreme stealth, trailing a hall away from Alfred at all times. He was very good at it despite his towering height and renowned strength. When the distress American slipped into an office alone, Ivan followed. He closed the frosted glass door noisily, his form of an introduction. Alfred whipped around in alarm, then slumped his shoulders. It was an discovery to see him relax now of all times.

“Oh thank god it's you big guy. Thought it was someone scary!” Alfred greeted teasingly. Taken aback by the younger nation's genial tone, Ivan's false smile changed to a flat hard line. Something was definitely going on. He wasn't sure what to say now, the usual hostile string of insults no longer suitable as an opener.

“Going the quiet route huh? I can respect that. Leaves me more room to talk,” Alfred started, dropping into the luxury office chair. The whole office was quite nice, probably belonging to a German politician of some sort. “You know, I've been thinking. These past 16 years... I know my leaders have been jokes. I know. But I'm really tired of being a living joke? You know?” he continued, frowning.

It was true. The past four American presidents had been international disasters. From drunk social media posts to 'losing' deadly missiles, each term had been a fumble. Ivan didn't envy the internal economic damage his former enemy was surely suffering.

This serious and unhappy aura, it didn't suit Alfred at all. “I understand, little America. It is over twenty five years since my soviet fall, but I am joke of the whole world.” Ivan replied honestly. There was no risk to truth, he decided. Ever since the elections, Alfred hadn't called him a communist once. It was a pleasant change from the tired rhetoric. Perhaps he was finally maturing?

“It's nice... just talking to you. No bullshit.” the honey blonde sighed, reclining a bit. Ivan hummed in agreement, not sure how to proceed. He dealt with international rage, ridicule, and doubt well. Having civil conversations not tainted by sarcasm was something Ivan was not well versed in. These past few decades had been hell for foreign relations.

The silence was killed by America's own anthem for a ring tone. He looked at the display screen, visibly cringed, then answered the cell phone. “All American awesome speaking.” he greeted cheerfully. His forcibly light attitude dropped instantly as he rubbed his temples. “Yes, boss. I understand.” he mumbled. A minute later, he continued “Of course. I'll take care of it. Just don't say anything yet.” he sighed, hanging up after. Ivan intimately understood the look of frustration after being chewed out by superiors. America wore it with resignation, covering his face with both hands.

“FUCK!” Alfred cursed suddenly, startling Ivan. “I have to go, but maybe we can hang out sometime.” the younger nation offered casually, winking at him mischievously. He ran off without waiting for a response. Ivan wouldn't have known what to say anyway. Sure, he had dozens of practised and sardonic responses. Normally, that was all that was required with the rashly stupid American. This civility and distant kindness was boggling. What did he want now? What game were they playing?

Three weeks later, Ivan decided to test the limits of the informal offer. He wanted to get away from work for a few days anyway. The price of oil was a mess right now and his grossly incompetent officials were blaming him for the short fall, as usual. The nine hour flight to Washington, DC, was mind numbing. Russia instantly regretted not bringing some nice literature from his own culture.

By the time the plane landed in the United States of America, jet lag was starting to take it's toll. Ivan blinked heavily during the taxi ride, the driver glancing back in concern. The burly Russian glared back with a silent promise of violence. The cabby was suddenly less curious, looking fearfully pale. Good boy.

Alfred's Washington home was easily one of his oldest, and his most sentimental. It was a small white colonial house with normal proportions and a second story. It was quaint in comparison to some of the mansions in other states. Due it being three in the morning, there was no point in ringing the door bell. Like Ivan would ever do that anyway. There was no challenge to it!

He scanned the building dimly lit orange by old street lamps. The sly ash blonde could scale the sides and get in through a window. Not only would it be test of acrobatics, but it would scare Alfred. That was a worth while deal. Rubbing his hands together, Ivan spotted a lone sunflower on the southern style veranda. Abandoning his plan, Ivan jogged over to the patio. Oh beautiful flower, who could leave you to suffer? Scooping up the single bloom lovingly, he noticed a large paper tag tied to the robust stem. He read the tiny looping writing immediately.

'I know you want to get through a window or a toilet or whatever, but I left a key. There's no way in hell you're wrecking my siding again.'

Oh, yes. Ivan had forgot about the last time he broke in. He was doing something lithe and graceful, but a window sill gave under his great weight. A large chunk of siding fell with him. Not one of his best feats of athleticism. Still, to be given a key... It completely sucked the fun out of breaking and entering.

Begrudgingly, the Russian looked around for this 'key'. Maybe there would be riddles or tricks to solve. The pale nation adored puzzles and mind games. Ivan huffed, unimpressed at once. He could see a fake rock for holding keys from the veranda. It wasn't even the right colour to blend in with the soil. Popping open the plastic 'rock', there was a key with a gold star sticker on it. Wondering if the gold star was a reference to his soviet era, Ivan tried it on the front door.

It worked, the door swinging open silently on oiled hinges. Once inside, Ivan locked it shut and quietly padded around. Exploring the kitchen, he found muffins. They were raspberry, his favourite. Eating one, he explored the rest of the place. Alfred's gun cabinets, all six of them, were looking well stocked like usual. His overflowing movie collection was heaped around the big screen television in the main room. Upstairs was a poorly locked war planning room, a bathroom, and three bedrooms. Having broken in and memorized these places before, Ivan skipped them. He entered what he knew to be Alfred's bedroom, not caring about personal invasion in the slightest.

America looked so tired as he slept. Ivan was glad to he wasn't the only one being dragged down by crashing oil prices. The global market was quite stressed at the moment. Placing the sunflower on the huge oak dresser, Ivan rubbed his eyes. A soft yawn ripped out of him, confirming the obvious. Dumping his small bag of clothes in a corner, Ivan made himself comfortable beside Alfred. Not only was his bed the softest, it would weird out the American until he sputtered like a fish. Making his former foe overreact and make a idiot of himself was hugely entertaining.

Wondering if he should set small traps and pranks around the house, Ivan lay down in his travel clothes. It probably wasn't worth the effort to set traps. Alfred was very skilled at disarming them. Russia could get the same result from less effort by playing mind tricks and moving around furniture. Scheming happily, Ivan drifted off.

It was a terrible screech, like a surprised chicken. Ivan couldn't recall hearing that sound in a very long time. Cracking open one eye, he spotted the thing that wretched him from sleep. His pillow was actually America, in full freak out mode. Oh, what a treat. A sleeping companion and mobile entertainment.

“Fuckin' Christ! What are you doing here?” Alfred squawked. Apparently Ivan draped an arm around the other in his sleep, so might as well run with it. “Oh, so you don't remember? We had so much fun too.” he teased, looking smug. Letting the younger nation assume the worst, Ivan watched as Alfred rolled out of bed. Oh, nothing but NASA boxers. That was just adorable. Perhaps Ivan could tease him about it mercilessly during a meeting.

“Take a picture! It'll last longer asshole!” The tanned blonde snarled, picking himself up off the floor. “You are such a hospitable host! I will take a picture.” Ivan replied happily, digging his phone out of a pocket. Two blurry pictures later, the American had fled to the bathroom. Already not bored. Visiting another country had been a great idea.


	2. Chapter 2

Once cleaned up and dressed in fresh clothes, the two gathered in the kitchen. “So... why are you here?” The tanned blonde asked seriously, perched at the edge of his seat with a hot coffee. “You invited me to 'hang out sometime', comrade. I decided the time and location.” Ivan explained casually, eating a piece of Alfred's heaping pancake breakfast. Of course, he didn't feel the need to ask.

“I was going to invite you over, you know.” Alfred complained. Ivan snorted and rolled his eyes. Yeah, right. No one invited him to anything unless he threatened to cave in their skull. “I'm serious dude! I was trying to be nice.” the honey blonde whined, back to his regular childish self. Ivan smirked, lighting a cigarette as he spoke, “What could you possibly gain? Power? Oil?”

“This is what I get for being nice.” Alfred muttered, sipping his black coffee. Satisfied with the dismissive answer, Ivan stopped his own prickly defence. The stubborn American was mostly transparent these days anyway. “What are we doing today, America?” Ivan asked, stealing two more pancakes. “Aquarium, I think. I just need to chill.” the other answered.

Despite understanding the somewhat archaic saying, Ivan could never approve of it. It sounded like Alfred wanted to sleep inside a fridge, or lay in snow. Either activity sounded stupid and unpleasant. Still it has been years since anyone invited him out for fun, decades actually. He could at least pretend to care, he mused internally.

Conversation was very one sided, with Ivan listening. “... and I wanted to sweep it under the rug. Boss man was all 'nope, it's your fault', then the press got a hold of it. I love them sometimes but the reporters were so fucking mean. So now every time I want to visit Mexico I have to jump hoops, or whatever. Sometimes a nation just wants to relax and get piss drunk on tequila in another country, you know?” the younger nation rambled, blue eyes so bright. Ivan briefly considered stealing those glittering jewels for eyes, but dismissed it. He'd never hear the end of it from his leader if Alfred's summer blue gaze was damaged.

“... and we're here!” Alfred announced, pulling into a busy parking lot.” Ivan squinted at the flashy entrance of the place, noting pleasant memories from the past. “This aquarium, it is different yes?” Ivan asked, unable to place why. “What? Oh... that's right! I took you to the national aquarium before the cold war. And maybe one time after. It closed ages ago. It was one of the longest running aquariums in the world. I had good times there...” Alfred recalled, lost to nostalgia. He almost seemed sad to talk about the loss of his ancient monument, not snapping back to his happy self.

“Tell me of this place.” Ivan prompted, tugging his host to the present. To scare, humiliate, or anger Alfred was one thing. To made him sad... Ivan didn't deal with sad people well. He hardly acknowledged the damaging emotion himself. Lit up once again, the American proceeded to drag him to every display in the place. Due to the day of the week, the crowds of noisy children were to a minimum.

The excessive entry cost made Ivan do a double take, but Alfred paid it without complaint. It would have cost nearly a mortgage payment in his own currency for just one ticket. How far Ivan had fallen since his peak of red glory in the 1970's. At least they were still compatible in military strength and global trading power.

Ivan felt himself drawn to the shark pools near the end. It was such a calm blue water. Sharks weren't pretentious, or screeching for attention. They were instinctive and silent, simply keeping to their ancient ways of life. If sharks weren't so stupid, they might even be smug about their existence. Ivan liked to think his much younger self would make an excellent shark.

Alfred was quiet for the first time since arriving, also staring into the shark tank. It was nice to not have continuous noise bleeding from his host's face, but it was also irregular and unnatural. The Russian basked in the relative peace. The silence was broken several minutes later.

“Ivan, you're old right? Have you ever looked around and been... unhappy with everything?” Alfred asked, looking at him earnestly. Ivan thought about what to say, perfectly understanding the question. “Yes, I have.” He eventually replied, not wanting to drag up historical reference. “What did you do to fix it?” The younger nation pressed on.

In this moment, Alfred was not the powerful superpower, but a naive young colony. Back then he had been so curious and open minded. Asking Ivan to teach him skating, going to community dances... the pale northern nation sighed. “I restructured many times. I would be happy for a few years, but the problems always return.” he explained, deciding not to fuck with the honey blonde's head for once. “Oh.” Alfred hummed. Ivan looked at him curiously, wondering. What was he planning now, or had he ever planned anything?


	3. Chapter 3

Eventually Ivan had to go back to his own country. After a surprisingly fun visit of two days, the burly Russian's phone was going off like bomb every couple hours. His strict pseudo-dictator boss was likely furious with him about something trifling. The human knew he simply didn't answer his phone when on official government sanctioned vacations. Maybe he didn't answer it other times as well...

Time was a funny thing for nations. Six months could pass by without noticing, yet singular events in society could shape them forever. An entire season had slipped by, winter now gripping all of Russia fiercely. Despite global warming, his land had yet to relent it's icy heritage. Ivan knitted while staring at the blizzard outside absently.

The power had cut out hours ago, interrupting his prerecorded hockey game. Some fool must have crashed into a pole during whiteout conditions. At least his boss couldn't call him right now. The living room fireplace crackled warmly, casting a flickering orange glow over the room. Something odd formed in the swirl of flakes outside. It was a dark shape... moving? A person perhaps? They seemed to be carrying something. Strange. Ivan didn't remember ordering take out.

Still, he should probably investigate. He set the knitting aside, lighting a candle. Before reaching the door, there was loud knocking. Ivan paused, wondering if it was Belarus. She was less obsessive about marrying him these days, due to a century of rejection. Still, she was not to be underestimated. How many times had he woken up to her being in his bed, fondling his shaggy platinum locks of hair? Ivan shuddered at the memory.

“Let me in man! It's frozen hell out here!” a familiar voice yelled, competing with howling wind. Ivan opened the door, pulling Alfred inside before the house lost anymore heat. The door was promptly closed and locked. The American was bundled up, snow stuck to every part of him. His eye lashes were frosted over into white rims. “Hey big guy! Do you know what day it is?” Alfred asked excitedly, snow falling everywhere as he bounced on his feet.

Ivan pondered the question, wondering if he had missed yet another civic holiday. He was interrupted mid-process. “It's Christmas! Woo! Merry Christmas Ivan!” Alfred whooped loudly, shoving a wet brown bag of things into Ivan's arms. Ivan stood there, confused. The honey blonde had used his real name. No one ever did that. Was this a prank? “Open it! Open it!” Alfred urged, peeling off his increasingly soggy winter wear. He wore a brazen American flag shirt underneath with blue jeans.

The present practically unwrapped itself upon returning to the living room. The soggy paper bag fell apart, some items escaping to the floor. There was a bottle of good vodka, a container of dessert squares, a book, and a hand gun. It was honestly a well thought out gift. Ivan did enjoy all of these things naturally.

“Thank you... Alfred. I assume you are here to improve political relations.” Ivan replied, still puzzling over why the American was here at all. It felt so strange to speak in a casual manner, with real names. The other nation frowned. It really didn't suit him. “No. I came because it's Christmas, you ass.” he grumbled. The American was a lousy liar, hesitating before his response. Fine, Russia could play this game too. “I apologize, the storms have causes a blackout. I can only offer you tea, or perhaps coffee.”

“I'll take a coffee... but how?” the honey blonde asked in response. Ivan was no stranger to blackouts, since most of the wiring in Moscow was from the 1950's to 1960's. He had a kettle of water and a long iron hook by the fire place. Over the fire was a removable metal grid. Putting the kettle on, Ivan returned to knitting. He looked over to his guest, seeing Alfred visibly shiver. Ivan had waited before in cruel amusement, to see when the stubborn fool would ask for a sweater. He hadn't for over one hundred and twenty years, and likely wouldn't now.

At this rate, his knitting was never going to be finished. Ivan stood in the name of good relations to fetch a sweater anyway. As he began the notion, America spoke up. “Hey... while you're up, could you get me a sweater?” Well, Alfred's shift in government had really made a difference. Maybe they could finally hold trade meetings without spitting hatred and curses. Ivan desperately needed it after all of Europe sanctioned him into the ground for the third time.

Ivan was going to give him a thin ugly sweater, but changed his mind. Coming back with a vaguely Russian flag themed sweater, Ivan hoped his guest would notice the increase in craftsmanship. “Thanks big guy. It's freezing in here.” Alfred said, catching the sweater as Ivan tossed it. “The power has been out for two days. I too wish this storm would pass.” Ivan sighed, picking up his knitting needles.

“Two days? That's totally crazy, and... Wow this sweater is so fluffy! It's so fluffy and It's almost America colours! Hey didn't you used to have a cat?” The jaunt in topics was annoying, but Ivan bore with it. This was the first time in a while anyone had been to his house. It was decidedly nice. “Koshka died some time ago. I have not replaced him, though I am considering it.” Ivan replied. “Oh... that sucks. I used to have dogs, but after having like twelve die on you, it gets too sad. My horse lived way longer, but old age... yeah. Mattie's so lucky, he has his bear. Apparently he had it before England, before France.” Alfred rambled like normal, “I suppose that makes him older than me by a bit, but there's no way in hell I'm telling him that.”

“Can't have Canada having large ego.” Ivan mused, not looking up much. “Exactly. You get it. Love my bro but he could crush nations if he wasn't so... wimpy.” Alfred agreed. For some time, they chatted about any number of things. Who would die first during apocalypse. England obviously, because he was an idiot. What space satellite design was the coolest looking, which Russia felt he dominated. The inevitable topic of holiday plans came up, which Ivan despised. He didn't have plans, and never did since the USSR failed. Everyone was still too scared of him, even as his economy crumbled at the edges.

“Well I had plans, but ever since I roughed up North Korea... yeah. Fuck all to do.” Alfred admitted openly. Wasn't Alfred incredibly popular? Ivan didn't know these days, getting rather slack in his international espionage. “I did actually come with politics in mind. It's... uh, I can't believe I'm asking.” the tanned American started, scratching his neck nervously. Well, wasn't that interesting. The police of the world was nervous about something.


	4. Chapter 4

“Well... You have a lot of experience with this but... I was thinking of killing my president.” Alfred stated bluntly. Ivan was shocked to hear this, keeping his expression blank. “He can not be that bad, Alfred.” Ivan objected, feeling a sick mix of joy and concern. This was definitely a real name type of conversation. The possibility of international anarchy was somewhat exciting. 

“He's stripping human rights, deregulating the market... He's a fucking monster. I need to kill him.” Alfred insisted, expression steeled. “Can you ah... what is it... impeach him?” Ivan asked, still knitting. “It's going to take a year to work, and... He needs to be out now. He wants to go to war with China. Fucking China. That dude is as tough as you are.” his guest fretted, clearly losing his cool. 

This was serious. China would look for allies and Ivan would be torn from his comfortable neutrality. The global markets... Ivan didn't want to think about what a potential market crash would do for his already struggling citizens. “Okay. I will help you kill him.” the Russian agreed, keeping his regular demeanour.

“Oh thank you! You have no idea how stressed out I've been about this!” Alfred crooned, sweeping Ivan into a massive hug. Not certain what to do, the taller nation awkwardly patted America on the back. “It will be fine, yes?” he soothed, or hoped he did. He wasn't very good at these positive types of interactions. Released, the Russian settled back in his rocking chair.

“Oh I'm so excited! I was thinking, oh he's not gonna go for it or be a huge dick, but oh my god you're so chill about this!” Alfred squealed happily, bouncing all over the place. “Yes, I am chill, as you say. Now, how do you wish to kill him?” Russia answered calmly. “I want to rip his head off.” Alfred answered quickly, expression dreamy as he clearly imagined it. Ivan couldn't help but truly smile, seeing a kindred spirit of carnal destruction for a few seconds. Maybe they could be friends, someday.

After a long night of scheming and evil plans, the duo ordered takeout from the functioning half of Moscow. Dinner was fish with fries, a heaping helping of coleslaw on the side. The dessert squares turned out to be nanaimo bars, which were absolutely delicious. After killing the bottle of vodka, a mostly sober Ivan and a drunk Alfred decided to sleep.

With the power still off, Ivan's bedroom had turned into an icebox. Alfred was largely useless, still unable to hold his liquor after two centuries. Must be a trait he inherited from England. Dragging a mattress from a long abandoned guest bedroom, Ivan set it up in the warm living room. A few dusty blankets later, everything was ready.

Getting comfortable, the tall Russian looked over at his guest. “Where am I supposed to sleep big dummy?” Alfred slurred, slumped over the worn love seat. “Wherever you wish, though it is advisable to share the mattress. Body heat is wonderful for blizzard survival” Ivan answered, meaning it in the most platonic way possible. He had saved many lost and cold travellers in the past by keeping them awake and close. It was possible to freeze to death even inside structures, if the heat couldn't stay in effectively.

“I'm not layin' with you commie. Uh, not commie. Whatever.” Alfred complained, correcting himself mid insult. “I am curious America. You have not called me communist for almost a year. Perhaps you have gleamed my reasons for the soviet union?” Ivan wondered out loud, one of several questions that weighed on his mind. 

“Communists are still evil, and capitalism will always prevail.” The tanned American argued predictably, then sighed. He looked remorseful a moment, continuing, “But I'm trying not to hold it against you anymore. You were starving at the time, or at least your people were. Starving people do crazy things, like kill the royal family, or start cult societies. Evil stupid cult societies.”

Ivan had been hungry prior to the massacre that triggered the soviet union. Hungry enough to kill, to do something regrettable. His precious Romanovs had ignored the signs. He loved them, he did and always would, but they had been so dense. They took little heed of his condition, presuming him to be sick, ignoring his warnings. They died for that sin, painfully and horribly.

“At least you understand that much.” Ivan whispered, glad someone understood even a sliver of his motives. Rationing the few pieces of firewood left, Ivan tossed a few on to keep the heat in the room alive. Sleep came quickly, the cold of day having sapped Ivan of his energy. He slept poorly, shivering and getting up frequently to stoke the fire.

After an unknown amount of time Ivan woke to weak light of morning. The snow plastered windows filtered the room pale grey. A lukewarm America was wrapped tightly around him under the covers, still wearing that fluffy sweater. Fearing the worst, Ivan checked Alfred's pulse. It was much too slow. As dangerous as Ivan could get when enraged, he had no wish for people to die on his watch. Unless they particularly deserved it, life was indeed sacred.

The fire was completely dead today, the room plunged to hair raising temperatures. If Ivan was feeling uncomfortable in this environment, it could kill his temperate to subtropical guest. Using a newspaper as kindling, Ivan built the fire up again and started boiling water. Alfred was still unconscious, pulse low. “Please wake up America.” Russia muttered anxiously, taking off his treasured scarf and winding it around the other nation's neck and face. Desperate, he resorted to holding his guest close and attempting to rub heat into his back. He had to react to something!

After twenty fearful minutes, a very groggy America came back to life. “Never coming back here again.” he coughed, looking exhausted. Relieved, Ivan brought him a fresh extra strong coffee. “Drink, America. It is warm.” he urged, not giving the younger man a choice. “I am glad you are not dead. Your soon-to-be-murdered boss would be very displeased with my government.” Ivan commented once Alfred was fully revived.

“You mean... you still want to help? I thought all the plans were drunk talk.” Alfred answered, looking very happy. “This act will bind us as comrades.” Ivan purred, quite pleased. “What do you mean? Why are you acting like a bond villain?” Alfred demanded, looking apprehensive. “We will be friends, yes? Then you can return a big favour for me!” Ivan explained, letting his inner glee seep through his normally flat expressions.

“I'm not killing Putin. Even if he is a jerk.” Alfred refused, munching on freezing cold bread from the kitchen. “No, silly American. You will not bring harm to my boss. He is mine.” Russia replied with ease, not bothering to disguise his dark possessive nature towards the end. “Oooh, crushing much on the Putinator. You know hes getting old right?” Alfred teased, ignoring the warnings like always. Ivan scowled but said nothing. His favourite strong willed leader aging less than gracefully was a concern gnawing at the back of his mind.

After a cold breakfast of cereal and breads, the duo set to work shovelling out the front door. It took three hours of labour, but the punishing blizzard had finally settled in the night. The amber glow of street lamps came closer, humming to life one city block at a time. Finally, Ivan's house was live again. It was just in time for both of them to have hot showers before heading to the airport. They separated peacefully at the waiting area, for Alfred had a military jet on stand by.

They would not physically see each other again for many months. Convening too often would arouse suspicion, outside their normal boxes of behaviour. While not dead, Alfred's president was almost immediately absent from office, horrendously ill. Ivan knew the man would be sleeping most days, vomiting and becoming blistered. The pain of the blisters would drive him to assured madness. He would eventually die, when his heart gave out from the stress. Ivan knew this intimately.

During the cold war, Ivan had entirely embraced the hate and darkness within. His people produced nuclear bombs, rockets, and guns never seen before. They also engineered insidious diseases, all of which ever left a laboratory. Strains of disease so virile they had to seal the files for then underground in hidden bunkers. The particular strain infecting the American president was so obscure, it's name was stripped from soviet records. It had a fatality rate of eighty percent, they highest they ever tested on dogs.

Although the president's death would be a bit on the flashy side, it could easily be explained away with deadly allergies to certain foods or alcohol. After all, the main catalyst for the disease had laced every drink the man had for months. His body was primed for any disease at all, immune system almost permanently crippled.


	5. Chapter 5

It was an early spring day, plants struggling to defy the snow. Several fresh chutes had began poking through the thawing white landscape. Ivan could almost feel the land returning to life, putting a spring in his step. 

Perhaps it was the trade deals with America that made him buzz with energy. Alfred's peoples were absolutely addicted to oil. They would trade anything for it, go to any length. Ivan's money starved government was a reasonable seller. It was a capitalist match made in heaven. He even felt happier, for the sudden flush of American dollars overjoyed his poorest citizens.

His phone rang half way through shovelling a path to the front door. He paused to answer the device, cheerfully greeting “Hello!” in his native language. “Greetings Russia.” the stern voice of Germany replied in English. There was never a good reason for him to call Ivan. Sanctions, accusations, reminders of world meetings... nothing worth caring about.

“There vill be a meeting, your attendance is required.” Germany continued to speak when Ivan remained silent. “How does this concern me?” Ivan retorted, not impressed by the European power. “The American president has suddenly died. It concerns the entire vorld, Russia.” the German explained, humourless as always. “I suppose I am coming.” Ivan feigned disinterest, though he was extremely pleased.

Ivan had yet to ask for repayment from Alfred. Initially, he was going to use it to more favourable trade. That seemed to happen on it's own. Later, he planned blackmail his way into the next inaugural party. He received an invitation from Alfred literally an hour after his president's death. That had been almost two days ago. Ivan was honestly at a bit perplexed about what to do with his power over Alfred. Perhaps he could extort a visit out of the young American. His spring weather was so much more pleasant.

Meeting in Berlin three days later, Ivan had a hassle free flight. His pushy boss had discussed at great length plans for whoever the replacement would be. Ivan largely dismissed the manipulative plans, nodding but not really listening. His current leader had no idea Ivan was behind the assassination, with his series of ancient connections. Ignorance was indeed bliss.

The meeting appeared to be small. Canada, Syria, China, India, Israel, and the Philippines were seated around a small table. America was not present in the somewhat intimate setting. Russia took his seat next to India, across from China. Being on good terms with both nations, he attempted small talk.

“What is this meeting about, comrades?” Ivan asked in feigned obliviousness. “I do not know, Mr. Russia.” India replied politely, less afraid to look him in the than the others. The eclectic nation's tropical exports were valuable to the sugar loving Russian, and he knew it. China looked incredibly tense, hands tented in thought. Canada cleared his throat, barely attracting attention. He took a breath to speak, but was interrupted by American stepping into the room, followed by Germany.

Alfred looked genuinely upset, eyes glassy. His posture was less bold than usual, as if stricken by deep sadness. The American was a good actor when he wanted to be. “Trading partners... friends. All of you were in the process of arranging contracts or exports with my government. President James S Selkirk died five days ago. His illness was long hidden, and so painful... It might have pushed him into making bad decisions. Any deals or the like from the past two months is currently being analyzed. A few things are already been reversed. My government apologizes for the inconvenience...” Alfred sniffled once during his speech, sitting after a moment of silence. Very fine acting.

The pragmatic China was first to speak, sounding less than sympathetic. “How did he die?” he asked with narrowed eyes. “His immune system started killing him, it probably started as an infection... We aren't really sure yet. The boss was always so secretive.” Alfred explained solemnly. “Who is the next in command?” Canada asked, barely heard by most. 

“Oh... well... Normally my vice president would be taking over, but he's... compromised. So the speaker of the senate is taking over. Seems like a nice enough guy... his name is...” Alfred paused speaking to dab at a crocodile tear and dig a letter out of his pocket. “... Yuri Kozloff? God, am I even saying that right?” he muttered. Ivan was pleased Alfred chose one of his long buried assets. The man was actually a child of Russian spies sent over in the late 1970's. Yuri Kozlov was completely unaware he had been groomed to gain political power, if his parents were still doing as they were trained.

Israel and Syria glanced at Ivan with suspicion, then returned their attention to Alfred. India didn't seem bothered at all. “I didn't know your house of commons was so multicultural.” Canada noted softly in the background. “It's a senate... and I'm trying.” Alfred grumbled darkly. His false mood of grief and irritation seemed to silence possible complaints.

After asking several questions, China seemed satiated and left rather suddenly. Israel and Canada wanted to stay behind and comfort America in his faked time of need. Syria left even earlier than China, cursing in his own language. Ivan remained reserved, speaking rarely, if at all. He was a master of mind games but a somewhat pitiful actor. India stood to leave, then looked to his long time coal and gas provider.

“I though you would be happy a Russian was in charge of USA.” he noted cautiously. “If my own children were happy, they would not leave me for another nation.” Ivan stated flatly, voicing an honest opinion. It was insulting when citizens gave up fixing their own lands and moved away. For living nations, it was rude and occasionally fatal. Prussia, annoying cockroach that he was, provided living proof that belief in a fallen country kept one alive. There was enough pretentious German pricks claiming to be of Prussian heritage that the ex-nation wouldn't simply die.

Put off by Russia's standard behaviour, India left the room quickly. Alfred and his fooled companions soon left to help him get over his imagined sorrows. Ivan stood, confronted by Germany. “I do not know how, but you are responsible for America's boss dying.” the formal nation accused, looking Russia in the eyes. How brave, or rather, how foolish of the German.

“Germany, I am flattered. I have little wealth or time. Why would I waste such things on lesser people?” The ash blonde lied smoothly, petting Germany's jaw line in disturbingly close fashion. The strict German shuddered in fearful disgust and stepped several feet away. This physical distraction seemed to pull the suspicious nation from his chain of thought. Smirking in smug fashion, Ivan stood and left.


	6. Chapter 6

Ivan wanted to book a flight to the USA and meet the offspring of his aging espionage web. Still, it would draw too much attention. Germany, should he ever find out, could possibly dig up evidence of Russian tampering with the American legal system. Ivan's people had already been caught rigging major USA elections twice. 

The pale northern nation simply couldn't help himself. Was it so wrong for him to desire positive relation with the wealthy powerful Americans? They were blessed with lovely weather, and wonderful works of art. Even at the height Vladimir Putin's anti-American regime, Russians were still emigrating to the pleasant fields and cities of their former cold war enemies.

Predictably, Ivan government contacts pestered him several days later. He had been fishing while on vacation at his dascha. Admittedly, he was not on vacation time. He was given so little freedom to himself. The pale Russian would simply blow off work once every month or so. It seemed his lagging bureaucracy had finally agreed to the plans the boss had schemed over a week before.

Packing up his sunscreen and fishing gear, Ivan resigned himself to another day of servitude. After packing his clothes he took one last look of longing at the small vacation home. Someday he'd be able to stay longer than one evening. His cell phone range yet again. The ash blonde snarled, then answered it with indifference.

“Speaking.” he said simply, not using formal introductions anymore. A few regular humans had called the number before. “Mr. Braginsky, you are scheduled for a flight to the United State of America this evening.” some older male ordered. Ivan recognized him as one of Putin's devoted followers and helpers. “I understand. Putin has changed his mind?” Ivan asked curiously. “No. There is accusations of legal tampering again, sir.” the minion clarified.

So, they had found out his aging spies already? It had barely been a week. Ivan supposed he could give the American government some credit after all. “I will go to the airport now.” he responded. The conversation ended after that. Fishing gear still packed alongside country-side clothes, Ivan would have to wash his formal slacks and shirt somewhere. It was a physical impossibility to go through Moscow gridlock, change, then leave for the airport on time.

It was almost midnight when the flight left. Exhausted, Ivan fell asleep immediately on the plane. Despite the seat being first class, it was an awkward rest. Ivan woke with a sore neck, somewhere over North America. It was was still miraculous to Ivan that one could travel this far in only eight hours. When the America's were still being explored in the 1600's, it took months to bypass a mountain.

Ivan felt bittersweet about this politic trip. One one hand, he got to see the fruits of his decades long labour. On the other hand, he was about to be verbally assaulted. Perhaps the replacement president would yell at Ivan personally. At least the Russian would get to see one of his distant children. He really did care for each and every one of them.

Ivan left the gate at the airport, feeling stale and gross after so much time in a flying metal tube. It was hectic like always, people pushing past him impatiently. Ivan was about to leave the crowded JFK airport, when someone grabbed his shoulder. Ivan twirled around, instantly prepped for combat. Grabbing the arm, he nearly broke it cleanly in half before recognizing it's owner.

It was that tenacious honey blonde, wearing his wire frame glasses. There was a faint splash of freckles on caramel skin. Ivan blinked owlishly, releasing the trapped limb. “Oh. Hello America.” he greeted flatly. “Man, I was holding a sign for you by the gates. You went right past me.” the loud nation greeted, sounding far too happy for his sombre dress and mannerisms. Alfred must still be acting sad, currently dressed in a very black suit. Oh, yes... 'Mourning' the loss of his grossly incompetent leader.

“I did not see you.” Ivan replied, wondering why anyone was waiting for him at all. “Whatever. Let's go big guy. My new boss isn't a patient man.” Alfred dismissed, clearly not offended. Something bothered Ivan as they drove through mildly congested Washington DC traffic. “Does your new president not care? Sending you to do peasant work is so strange.” Ivan wondered out loud, analyzing any possible reaction.

“Kozloff has no clue who I am. The CIA director thought it was best. I'm having a fun time too. Haven't been allowed to run around in public since the Watergate scandal.” Alfred explained cheerfully, dropping the false pretenses completely. “So he does not know about living nations?” Russia asked. Alfred shook his head, then mused “You should watch your words at the white house. My people are freaking out and bugging everything. It's so hard to pretend being sad!”

No stranger to paranoia, Ivan glanced around the vehicle cautiously. “Are you certain they have not bugged this vehicle as well?” he asked in a steely manner. Alfred laughed, throwing his head back for a second. “That's a ruskie for ya. Relax dude. I rented a fresh car and stripped off the trackers.” he assured with a grin. Ivan didn't believe him in the least, but didn't press the issue.

The American white house always looked so large on television, but the front lawn was actually quite small. Ivan's own personal properties in Moscow were small, road expansions creeping closer every century. After a short walk to the huge front doors, Alfred welcomed Ivan inside. Resuming his mask of seriousness, the freckled blonde weaved between people while leading the way. 

“It's just crazy here. Ever since Selkirk died, other countries have been calling like every day. And the sympathy baskets. So many.” Alfred continued, forever leaking noise. Ivan merely nodded, noting one of his spies carrying papers out on an office. Alfred wasn't completely dense, a few of his own men planted in the Kremlin. It was all a silly game they played at this point, not gaining much either way.

They ended up in a cream coloured room with modest decorations. A man reclined slightly in a comfortable chair, brow creased in thought while browsing a thin booklet of papers. He was flanked on either side by body guards in black grieving attire. The seated man was more casually dressed, wearing grey sacks and a button up shirt.

“Mister President, the diplomat you requested has arrived.” Alfred announced, not sounding terribly subservient. The black haired man looked up, pale blue eyes flashing over rimmed glasses. His facade of calm was instantly broken. He stood, cheerful and energetic as he walked over. “Ah yes! Come! Sit! We have things to discuss.” he insisted while vigorously shaking Ivan's hand.


	7. Chapter 7

They say a first impression was formed in the first six seconds. Russia was inclined to agree. This Yuri Kozlov was quite forward, with a great handshake. He was handsome too. Impressed, Ivan decided to be less hostile right away. The man's faint Russian accent lacing every word was pleasant to listen to. “Before we get to the meat of things, there is tea and cookies. I hope those are sufficient.” the president continued, loving to hear himself talk, just like Alfred.

“Yes, thank you.” Ivan replied, helping himself to the table between them. Finally, an American president that wasn't a complete dog. After fixing a tea that was more cream and sugar than actual tea, Ivan was ready. “You are quite infamous, Mr. Braginsky. It seems records of you go back at least seventy years. To be truthful, I was expecting a much older diplomat.” the dark haired man began.

“I look good for my age.” Ivan joked, possibly the first in a long time with a politician. They typically had no sense of humour. “What do you require, Mr. Kozloff?” Ivan asked, quick to get started. The new leader's demands were not too insulting. Ivan personally played a hand in all past legal tampering, involved at some stage.

It was entirely reasonable to call upon Ivan when he was directly connected with a few questionable major elections. The American vice president was found rather unsuitable after a tremendous amount of child porn was found on his computer. People really needed to get better firewalls. “... so you understand why I suspect your government.” the president finished, indirectly accusing Ivan of quite a few things. To be fair, he was responsible for a lot of them.

Ivan shook his head in a dismissive matter, offering a apologetic smile. “My government is not well received by most, sir. When my people are straight forward, they are called barbarians. When they approach things with diplomacy, they are ignored. It is natural for the Republic of Russia use alternative methods, yes?” Ivan explained patiently. The president seemed less than pleased by this response.

“However, the Kremlin is quite busy with it's own problems. I do not envy your position of clearing up the vice president's mess.” Russia continued, ignoring the reaction. He chuckled, then pondered out loud “I suppose my bosses would be trying to accomplish the obvious, if they were responsible.”

“Oh, and what is that?” Kozlov asked coldly, eyes narrowed. “To have positive interactions and trade connections of course.” Ivan replied cheerfully. Alfred snorted while seated nearby, as the president looked dumbfounded. “The second largest oil exporter and the largest military paired together. The possibilities are endless!” Ivan answered happily, forgetting to act calm.

“You really are off your rocker this time, Ivan. There's no way in hell that would happen.” Alfred scoffed, forgetting who he was in front of. “Mr. Jones! Do you always speak to foreign diplomats so rudely?” Kozlov scolded, as if talking to a child. “Do not concern yourself. We have known each other a great time. Ours is an unconventional friendship.” Ivan purred, knowing it would irritate America.

“We are totally not friends. You just left me at that bar in Italy. You wouldn't even give me a ride to the hotel. We were staying at the same hotel you ungrateful jack ass.” Alfred argued hotly. “Perhaps you should have not made so many bear jokes, yes?” The Russian hissed, his good mood quickly evaporating. Sometimes he forgot how unbearably annoying Alfred could be. “Maybe if you weren't built like one, I wouldn't have to make them.” The honey blonde bickered. “I am not having this argument again, Alfred.” Ivan sighed, rolling his eyes. 

“Fine. I'm getting a slushie then. You want one boss? They have this new vanilla cherry one and it sounds super gross but its actually crazy good.” the younger nation growled, getting distracted immediately. Alfred once again forgot he was supposed to pouting, or sad for that matter. He was a fine actor, but had a terrible attention span at times. Kozlov shook his head, looking baffled. The tanned American shot Ivan a dirty look, then stomped out.

After a minute, the president sighed and rubbed his temples. “That is the first time I have ever seen him act so disrespectfully.” he muttered. “Do not worry, Mr. Kozloff. We have argued for many decades. Like most politics, very little happens.” Ivan assured seriously, not bothering to filter his words. If the man was remotely intelligent, he would connect the dots himself.

“You truly are different from what I expected.” the man replied, looking at Ivan intently. Maybe he was already figuring out what Ivan not so subtly hinted at. After a drawn out conversation about nothing interesting, the big doors to the room swung open. The Russian was grateful for the distraction. “Slushies, oh slushies. Here big guy. I tried to find a shit flavoured one for you, but settled for purple.” Alfred teased, shoving a chilled drink in Ivan's hands. “Only because you ate everything else.” Ivan retorted, accepting the frozen treat.

“Jerk.”

“Dog.”

“Eurotrash scum.”

“Stupid cow.”

“Boys! That's enough! Please act like professional diplomats.” the exasperated human leader ordered firmly. Both body guards had seen this behaviour for at least ten years, aware of exactly who the bickering nations were. They couldn't care in the least anymore. Ivan hummed in victory at squeezing that last insult in, slipping his flavoured ice drink with a straw. It was pretty good.

Alfred grumbled but obeyed his boss's wishes. They were soon dismissed. Naturally they broke into argument before they left the white house. The president was within earshot of it all, just shaking his head. “... I can't believe you would fuckin' say that in front my new boss. You can be such a pig headed, full of shit –” Alfred paused his torrent of poorly formed insults, noticing the other no longer following him to the parking lot. Ivan waited at the edge of the concrete, shifting his feet.

“Aren't you coming?” the younger nation asked. “I have not been formally invited.” Ivan replied pointedly. “When has that ever stopped you from climbing in a window?” the honey blond challenged. The Russian chuckled and shook his head, answering “I was invited on all accounts, so it was not legally breaking and entering.” Alfred rolled his eyes, waving Ivan over. “Let's get going you big stupid vampire. You look like crap after that long ass plane ride.” he replied.


	8. Chapter 8

Visiting was fun. Ivan and Alfred fought constantly, occasionally trying to beat the shit out of each other. It was the only normal interaction they really knew. After getting kicked out of a Mexican restaurant, they decided to visit a planetarium. The evening was polished off with a movie at Alfred's house. The Russian could tell America was extremely stressed with work. The chaos caused by his boss's death was evident, phone calls constantly interrupting their day out. 

As Alfred's cell phone went off yet again, he groaned. “You should not ask for my help if you can not handle the side effects, Alfred.” Ivan said knowingly, gradually getting used to human names. Alfred rolled his eyes and answered the device after pausing the action movie. It was apparently a short a conversation, with much yelling. Ivan raised his brow in questioning manner while eating popcorn.

Hanging up, Alfred glared at Ivan. Used to this, the Russian looked back with a deadpan expression. “What did you say to Kozloff? He's asking questions.” the honey blonde demanded. “If a leader does not ask questions, he is a poor choice.” Ivan countered, knowing full well what the short tempered American was talking about. If the man didn't suspect something after seeing Ivan's name listed eighty years ago in records, he was completely retarded.

“Now he's going to bug me and think I'm some magical creature or whatever.” Alfred whined. “Are we not, to humankind? We do not age, and heal in minutes.” Ivan replied, always one for playing devil's advocate. “I guess, but that's not the point –” the tanned nation's spiel was interrupted by loud knocking on the door. The two nations waited to see who would get up first. The knocking picked up again.

“You are so lazy!” Ivan hissed, standing. Answering the door, he opened it up a crack. “What?” he asked rudely, seeing an upset American president with crossed arms. He was flanked by two guards as per usual. “Who is it? Alfred yelled from the couch, too comfortable to move. “It is Mr. Kozloff and his men.” Ivan crooned. The American scrambled to rise to his feet, throwing blankets and pillows off the couch.

“Sir, this is surprise!” Alfred squeaked, aware of how compromising he may appear. His new boss already wanted to yell at him. Ivan felt a twinge of empathy, but was mostly relieved something wasn't his fault for once. Ivan gathered with a blanket, watching the brewing storm. The human leader said nothing for a moment looking around. He took in photos as far back as the American civil war, proudly displayed above the couch. The rest of the home was decorated with old bits of junk that historians would drool over. Ivan's own house was the same way, stuffed with books over a century old.

“What are you?” the president finally asked suspiciously. His two body guards were as nonchalant as ever, used to everything. “I'm your helpful assistant sir.” Alfred replied, not exactly lying. “Tell me the truth.” the man ordered. “Well... I'm the United States of America. Technically I'm a living manifestation of the country. I influence the population as much as they form me, basically.” the honey blonde attempted to explain. It was a bizarre subject to breach.

“So many long words, Alfred. I sincerely hope your tiny brain did not hurt itself.” Ivan noted sarcastically. “Shut up! I know words. Your big dinosaur brain doesn't understand my brilliance.” the American shot back. “I was told you like dinosaurs.” the Russian teased flirtatiously. He mostly didn't mean it, the gesture engineered to get under Alfred's skin. 

Looking rather red, Alfred shoved him. “Fuck off. I need to talk to my boss man seriously... 'kay?” he cursed, the statement softening to a question at the end. That was about as civil as it got between them these days. Taking the hint, Ivan shrugged and stood. “I am using your kitchen, filthy American.” he replied, walking off. He ignored any further protests.

For a country with a rich agricultural past, Alfred's kitchen was sparsely stocked. The glossy white kitchen was poorly organized as well. While Ivan started moving things around, he disparaged at the sheer whiteness of the space. It reminded the ancient Russian of icy fields back home. A kitchen was the heart of the home. You needed bright colours, patterns, and fabrics. Even a big red wall mural would do over this blankness. Ivan contemplated painting a Russian eagle on the wall.

“What are you doing in there?” Alfred yelled down the hall. “I am making your kitchen more efficient, comrade.” Ivan hollered back, in a good mood. There was muffled cursing, but no true response. While sorting the half empty cupboards, the ash blonde found basic baking supplies. Humming Korobeiniki, Ivan set to work. Making something himself was the only way he was going to get a good meal.

Mixing butter, baking powder, and oil with water, the slurry was fed flour slowly. Soon it was a pale dough thick enough to knead by hand. Ivan rolled up the sleeves of his sweater and set to work. The end result wouldn't be as delicious as yeast based breads. Ivan didn't have the time or supplies for such an endeavour. Beef strips and mushrooms were fried in a pan at the same.

After roughly forty minutes of work, Ivan slid the pirozhki into the oven. Setting a timer, Ivan dug out some of Alfred's expensive rum. Grabbing several shot glasses, he returned to America's plush couch. “Are you finished explaining the obvious yet?” Ivan asked, setting up shots. He raised a tiny glass to the American president and his goons in silent offering. They all refused. The bodyguards looked at him with thinly veiled distrust.

“I'm trying man. He doesn't believe me.” Alfred complained. “This story is ridiculous, Mr. Jones.” Mr. Kozlov denied, looking frustrated. “You appear to be friends with him. Do you have a better explanation for this... joke?” the man appealed to Ivan. Russia nodded sagely, pulling a knife from under his sweater. The body guard's hands jumped to their guns but didn't draw.

Ivan rolled his eyes, cutting a thin line across his own palm. It stung fiercely despite being a shallow cut. Droplets of blood welled forth from the tiny wound. Wiping the blade clean off on his sweater, Ivan tucked it away. He then showed the palm to the American president. “Please watch Mr. Kozloff. I do not wish to repeat this act.” Ivan said sternly, expression masking pain. The human looked on with a blend of horror and curiosity. The insignificant cut healed in under a minute. Smooth pale flesh was as it always had been.

“Man, that was gross. You didn't have to cut yourself.” Alfred whined. “Would you prefer I stab you for demonstration?” Ivan threatened, taking a swig of rum. He cringed at it's sweetness. “Dude, you don't chug rum, you sip it. I thought you were civilized. Give me that.” Alfred insulted him, taking the bottle away. “If you had vodka or everclear, I wouldn't have to resort to drinking this... brown sugar water.” The older nation argued. “I'm sorry thirty nine percent isn't strong enough. I'm not a professional alcoholic like you.” Alfred retorted.

They paused their bickering to look at the president. He looked rather pale, running a hand through black hair. “You okay boss?” Alfred asked, leaning forward slightly. “You healed.” was all the man had to say. “Yes. I did.” Ivan replied casually. “Who are you?” the leader finally asked. The question Ivan had been waiting for. “I am Ivan Braginsky, formally referred to as the federal republic of Russia. I am pleased to properly introduce myself.”

“Russia is in your house? Why is he in your house? Why are you friends?” Mr. Kozlov rapid fired questions, starting to really freak out. “We aren't friends. He breaks in and uses my stuff.” Alfred protested, pouring himself a shot. “I was invited.” Ivan pointed out, munching on the long forgotten movie popcorn. “You're hiding from your dictator boss, dude.” the honey blonde countered. “Vladimir Putin is a wonderful leader that was elected fairly.” Ivan bristled possessively. “Oh my god, no one is re-elected six times, like ever.” Alfred dismissed, rolling his eyes.

The Russian huffed, but said nothing. The man-child nation before him simply didn't understand, changing leaders so fast no one knew their names. A real leader lasted for the ages, remembered for their wise choices. The American president exited abruptly, just as Ivan's pirozhki finished baking. Ivan looked at the spring world outside, watching the human retreat. “I like him.” he said with finality. “It's the accent right? It's fun. I haven't had a president with an accent in ages.” Alfred agreed, starting the movie again. Ivan chuckled, then joined his oblivious companion.

The death of president James Selkirk was swiftly forgotten in the political storm of confusion that followed. The lethargic American senate struggled to respond as the world swamped replacement president Yuri Kozlov with immense pressure to perform. He was handling the stress admirably, from what little screen time Ivan saw on the television. The ruse was going well, with the man's ex-KGB parents visiting the white house unhindered. Ivan wanted to laugh from how amazing things were going.


	9. Chapter 9

Eight months. That's how painfully long it took for the USA to get it's act together. A new emergency election was hosted after a several brief debates. The other candidates didn't stand a chance, despite Kozlov not being on any ballets. People started writing his name on voting slips, then checking it off. The sheer number of invalid 'Kozlov' voter slips overwhelmed the highly televised voting process. He unofficially won by a landslide for the democrat party. When the white house tried to place the official winner in power, the public took to occupying the white house lawn and burning down houses. The governing bodies were terrorized by their own citizens across every state, demanding their votes to be recognized. The senate inevitably caved in and put Kozlov back in power.

Ivan was pleased. His people were pleased. Once the Russian citizens discovered one of their own was 'running the USA', they celebrated. Fan letters from Slavic countries around the world inundated the white house. It was now a week before the inaugural party. Russia was browsing his extensive suit collection. He wanted to look stunning, but not overdone. This was the first time Ivan had been invited to such a party outside his own borders since... quite a long time.

He knew he was financially allied with America to some extent. Stroking the soft fabric of a hanging suit, Ivan wondered about things. Was he now friends with another nation? Alfred was inviting him over at least three times a year. They often did things that were admittedly fun and usually foolish.

The purple eyed Slav had only teased Alfred about being friends. It seemed to crawl under the tanned nation's skin easily. However, the actual idea of them being friends was appealing. Sure, the young nation was annoying, and loud, and flippant with his commitments. He was also terrifyingly strong. Ivan used to be that strong once, centuries ago. The stubborn Russian could keep up athletically these days, but resorted to mind games and sharp reflexes to keep his edge.

Sighing, he looked over his suits again. Perhaps this issue of friendship was one he was inventing. Russia was a... mostly... powerful and wonderful country. No. It was the best. He was superior above all others. And most of all, Ivan Braginsky did not doubt himself. Uplifted from his internal pep talk, the Russian finally picked a simple black suit and a blood red tie. He couldn't recall if it started off that burnt shade of red, which made the accessories an even better choice.

After picking out simple silver cuff links, Ivan was ready for the airport. The horrifying long plane ride was not going going to be fun. His cell phone rang as he locked up the house. He had been given express permission to attend this influential party. If work dared to call him... “Yes?” Ivan growled upon answering the phone.

“Oh man, no wonder nobody calls you! Sound like you shit out a pine cone.” A obnoxiously loud voice replied. Ivan froze, realizing it was America. When other nations called, it was always something bad. The worst came to mind immediately. Was Ivan not invited to the party anymore? “So, change of plans. Your planes suck and are never like, on time.” Alfred went on mindlessly. Disheartened, Ivan listened while waiting for the final words of rejection.

“... so yeah. I sent a jet over. It'll be six hours instead of a billion to get here. It's going to be at your place in an hour. The usual airport.” the annoying nation concluded. “Yes, I will be there.” Ivan breathed, unable to stop a smile creeping over his features. “Aww you sound happy. It's almost like you're not an ass –” The Russian ended the call prematurely. Not only was he still invited, but the host wanted to cart him over on their money.

Russia was relieved. International plane tickets cost a hefty $36,000 roubles, or two months salary for a low end government worker. Ivan wasn't paid much more than that. In war, he had endless access to his boss's accounts, but it was only for battle expenses... Yes. Alfred sending a private jet was greatly appreciated.


	10. Chapter 10

There was no pat downs. Ivan didn't have to explain why he had a gun and six knives on his person. He didn't have to dispose of his vodka flask. Private jet flights were wonderful! As the Russian boarded the small private jet, he was pleasantly surprised. There was only three others lounging in comfort, along with... “Katyusha?” Ivan called out, wondering if he was right of mind. He hadn't seen his busty Ukrainian sibling outside of world meetings for almost two years.

“Little Vanya! Come sit with your big sister!” Ukraine greeted, patting the plush seat beside her. She was ash blonde to platinum like Ivan, but her hair was trimmed to a short bob with a royal blue ribbon holding it down. Dusky blue eyes lit up as he obeyed hesitantly. Ever since claiming Crimea, Ivan often felt like a stranger around his own family.

“It is so wonderful to see you! You are eating well?” Ukraine asked, crushing Ivan with her chest as she gave a tight hug. Russia froze a second, then cautiously returned the gesture. “Yes, I am.” he replied. Conversation was mostly one sided, chats of a domestic nature. Ivan didn't know what to say, concerned he might incur another flurry of sanctions just from talking to her. Truthfully, he was the least social of his family despite being the most powerful. After a time he just listened politely while working on his knitting.

Sensing the mood, Ukraine quieted down and knitted as well. At a stretch of silence, Ukraine leaned in and looked at his handiwork. “What are you making?” she asked, trying to draw him out of his self imposed shell. “A sweater... for a comrade.” Ivan admitted. Alfred was too tall for Belarus's sweaters, but too slim for Ivan's. A new fitting piece was the only answer.

“You... you have made friends Vanya?” Ukraine asked in reverence. “No. I do not desire or need friends.” Ivan grumbled, hiding a faint blush in the white folds of his ever present scarf. “I am so happy for you! And with America! You are maturing!” she crooned, ignoring the attention she was gathering. “Sister, please. Not so loud.” Ivan muttered, glaring at the three human diplomats until they looked away fearfully. “We are not friends.” he repeated, mostly to himself.

His sister's words bothered him immensely. By the time the jet landed in the states to refuel, He was glad to rid of her presence for even a second. There was still two hours left of the flight. Ukraine was always chattering about emotions and passions. It was horrible, drudging up memories of when Ivan used to care. When he was united with his people in love and respect. It hurt just to think about it. Maybe he could just sit somewhere else.

Washington DC was his salvation. He fled his emotional clingy sibling the moment he was allowed to leave the plane. He was about to flag down a taxi, when there was shouting behind him. “Slow down!” a familiar voice called out. Ivan twisted around, prepared to duke it out. It was just America looking frustrated, how normal. “Seriously? I was there to pick you up and you just... Fuck. You are a complete bastard. I don't even know why I try with you.” Alfred complained.

“I was not expecting it.” Ivan answered flatly, eyeing the airport entrance warily. His nosy irritating sister appeared, leaving a trail of tears that would rival the Volga river. “Little Vanya, you disappeared. I though something horrible had happened!” she cried, wrapping herself around him like Velcro. “Katya, let go.” Ivan mumbled, not wanting to hurt her by accident. She eventually released him, her storm of tears switched to a beaming smile. Ukraine could be very manipulative like that, even if she meant well.

“Let me give ya'll a ride. Where's your hotel Ukraine?” Alfred offered, ignoring all the Russian dialogue flying around. Katyusha was not nearly as bilingual as Ivan, grasping enough to understand. “Hotel is here.” she managed to reply in English, showing a printed map labelled in Cyrillic. The American stared at it, looking confused. Ivan observed closely, unconvinced by the act.

It was entirely suspicious how fast America located Ukraine's hotel. After promising five times that he would be at the party, Ivan's doting sister stopped worrying. “But where are you staying?” Katyusha asked with dusky blue eyes. “A small place. Is very cheap.” Ivan replied tiredly, wishing to leave he door of her hotel room. She relented, giving his arm a squeeze before releasing him. Climbing into Alfred's black Lincoln sedan, Ivan huffed.

“I had no idea Ukraine was so... that. She seemed sweet and kinda normal before.” the American noted dryly. “My big sister is a wolf wearing sheep's clothing, as you say. I love her dearly, but she is planning something.” Ivan replied. “You think? Maybe I should let security know.” Alfred wondered out loud.

Ivan smirked, explaining, “That is foolish. If she wanted to kill your president, he would be dead by now. Katya is wonderful sniper. Trained her myself.” Raising a brow, Alfred started driving to his house. Alfred talked about nothing important, like usual. Ivan listened somewhat, nodding quietly, like usual. Not feeling particularly sarcastic or cruel today, the Russian was light on insults. His host seemed equally hospitable, staying away from topics that angered Ivan.


	11. Chapter 11

It was late afternoon, with almost a whole day before the inaugural party. Not feeling very interactive, Ivan read Voltaire while seated in a plush arm chair. Alfred hummed war songs while tending to his large gun collection. The Russian glanced over his book occasionally, not envying the task of caring for such a large firearms collection.

In the lull of comfortable silence, Ivan began staring at his book and thinking. He looked at Alfred again. “Do you hate me?” the Russian asked, curiosity buzzing in his skull. Alfred put down the semi-automated rifle he was cleaning, opening his mouth to speak. He closed it and frowned, as puzzled as Ivan at this point. “I don't seem to... no. I don't hate you.” The tanned nation surmised after a moment of contemplation. Resuming cleaning his gun, he hummed again. After minute, Russia pushed the boundaries, inquiring “Why is that?” 

Without missing a beat, America replied “I just don't. You've broken in here and read my computer files like ten times, but you've never black mailed me. You steal my stuff, but you always return it... usually. Even when you're being a fuckin' creep and scaring me in bed... you could have raped me in my damn sleep. But you didn't. So yeah. I don't, like, trust you very much. But I don't distrust or hate you. You're just weird.”

“I have never raped anyone.” Ivan retorted sharply. He had subjugated, beaten, and murdered others before. Ivan was no better than any other ancient nation. The Russian did pride himself on never having been a rapist though. He used the highly feared threat of rape, but never completed the act. After his dark time as part of the Golden Horde, Ivan wouldn't wish that fate on anyone.

“Never?” Alfred asked in disbelief. “I presume you have.” Ivan replied, not surprised. Alfred was influenced by France during colonization after all. “I... did. Once. I'm not proud of it. I've been trying to make it up to the Philippines for centuries but... I deserve his hate.” the freckled blonde sighed, looking dejected. “Do not be sad, Alfred. Imperialism brings out the worst in us, yes? I have enslaved and killed many for such causes.” Ivan dismissed, setting his book down. He tented his fingers, looking at his younger companion thoughtfully.

Alfred glanced over at him with those baby blue eyes, frown changing to a gentle smile. “Yeah... I guess, huh?” he replied more quietly than usual. The rest of the evening was peaceful. Well, technically a movie was being played while Alfred squealed and talked endlessly. In relative terms, that was peaceful. It wasn't like the suffocating silence of his own home, completely absent of life. Ivan enjoyed all this sensation, even if it was tiring.

Sleeping in a guest bedroom, Ivan lay in bed, restless. Alfred trusted him, if even a tiny amount. Somebody actually trusted him. They probably weren't friends, but that didn't matter. The fact that someone trusted Russia warmed his heart, making him feel a little better. With that pleasant though, he finally fell asleep.

The morning was still when Russia woke up. He stretched and climbed out of bed, wearing his silky black soviet union pyjamas. It was a waste to throw them away after the USSR crumbled, given that he had so many made. Padding downstairs carefully, He started the coffee maker. After quickly mixing and frying blini, Ivan dumped jam over the warm breakfast. He checked on his heavily sleeping host, the alarm clock screaming away.

The Russian shook his head, turning the useless thing off. A fresh cup of coffee was placed on the dresser alongside the steaming fresh blini. Settling with his own plate, on the bed, Ivan began eating. He had not shared breakfast time with anyone since his cat died four years ago. He would feed his beloved pet at the table, talking about his frustrations to it. Even now, Koshka's body was preserved through taxidermy, perched on his bedside table. On particularly difficult days, he still held the cat close, whispering his burdensome secrets. He wished his precious kitty was here now, even if it was dead.

Still, Ivan had to take advantage. He finally had a live breakfast partner, a talking one at that. “Alfred! Wake up!” he urged, shaking the man's shoulder roughly. The ash blonde knew America could easily take the force, though lesser nations had broken bones from it. The snoozing lump of blankets shifted and groaned. “... ugh... I don't wanna...” it yawned sleepily. Taking another bite of breakfast, Ivan grew impatient.

He dragged the lump of blankets and nation into a sitting position against the sturdy head board. Bringing the fresh coffee close, a hand reached out lethargically. “Coffee...” Alfred mumbled, emerging partially from his blanket cocoon. He was wearing a Captain America shirt, squinting blindly without his glasses. Grasping the blessed beverage with both hands, he took an appreciative sip.

After a while, Alfred was consciously aware of the world and chowing down on blini in bed. “Omigod, 'is is sooo goo'!” he praised with a mouth full of food. Mildly disgusted, Ivan didn't dignify that with a response. The food and coffee vanished quickly. “That was so nice! You are being super cool today dude!” the American complimented loudly, still snuggled in bed.

“I am the Russian Federation, powerful and feared. I do not do nice or cool.” Ivan argued, regretting his spontaneous act of kindness already. “Yeah yeah, mister macho. Say cheese!” Alfred dismissed, leaning in close and snapping a picture with his phone. “Look, it's perfect!” he enthused, showing the result.

Ivan was clearly wearing his socialist sleep wear in the background, looking confused. Alfred was posing in front, looking stupid like usual with a grin. A hashtag attachment of #breakfastbros already being typed. Horrified, Ivan tried to grab the phone but failed. “Do not post that on twitter.” he threatened, knowing his boss checked such things.

“Too late!” Alfred cheered, pressing a button. Ivan impulsively punched him in the jaw, then stomped out of the room. Laughing, Alfred trailed after him. “What the fuck! You call that a punch? Let's go man!” he teased, putting up his fists. “MY BOSS READS TWITTER, ALFRED! DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU HAVE DONE?” Ivan yelled furiously, losing his temper.

The wave of rage and frustration made America pause in his tracks. “He knows where I am staying now! He'll expect me to do... something... on my day off! I NEVER GET DAYS OFF!” Ivan hissed venomously, grabbing Alfred by the collar with both hands. He shook with the need to strangle his thoughtless host. He let go after a deep breath, running fingers through his shaggy locks.

“I... didn't know. My bad.” America half-ass apologized. After a few more breaths, Ivan forced the rage down with a swallow. “It is fine. Everything is fine. I need a drink.” he dead panned, walking off to search his luggage. Two bottles of vodka later, Ivan felt evened out. Alfred was being somewhat cautious, waiting for another explosion. This. Ivan hated This. When people acted differently around him, filtering words. The Russian had to fix this before it poisoned their thinly stretched bond of trust.


	12. Chapter 12

Not really knowing how to proceed, Ivan improvised. He pulled Alfred into a crushing hug without warning. “You may be stupid and cruel, but I do not hate you either.” Russia admitted, despising every second of this. It was leagues outside his comfort zone. “Good.” Alfred hummed in approval, immediately twisting out of the grasp. Ivan was solidly hit in the gut, not expecting it. “That's for punching my face!” Alfred growled.

“This is for spilling hot chocolate on my best sweater!” Ivan replied, engaging the somewhat violent play fighting. “Stealing my pot brownies!” another punch was dodged as America advanced on him. They exchanged blows evenly, dodging most as they screamed increasingly silly accusations at each other. Somewhat bloodied, Ivan towered over a tripped Alfred. Wielding a broken lamp, the situation made him pause.

Alfred, shielding his bruised face with his arms, relaxed slightly and perked an eyebrow. Ivan chuckled as the ridiculousness of it all. The chuckle grew to a rolling laugh, making him set down his weapon so he could breathe. “What?” Alfred asked curiously, sitting up. “I was about to kill you with a lamp over a twitter post!” Ivan answered, breaking into low riotous mirth again. “Yeah!” Alfred giggled, joining in. They laughed until there was no energy left in them, dropping onto the broken couch. Ivan felt relieved, almost human.

After pulling shards of glass and wood out of each other, the duo sank into plush furniture and mindlessly watched TV. Alfred's phone rang at some point. “United States of Amazing speaking.” he answered the device cheerfully. “Of course. Breakfast in bed in the best.” he replied after a moment. “I know. I think I'll save that post like forever.” he said while picking fluff off the couch. Ivan felt exasperated, certain they were talking about the inane twitter post. “Yeah, yeah. See you there.” he bid goodbye casually, hanging up.

“It's Mattie, We have to be ready in... thirty minutes.” Alfred explained as if he wasn't about to be late for the most important party of his president's career. Ivan stood, grimacing at the holes and clotted blood on his silky pyjamas. Oh well, more pairs where that came from. “Where ya going?” Alfred asked in standard obliviousness. “Unlike some animals, I care about looking good in public.” Ivan scoffed, heading off to change.

A tailored suit from long ago. Silver cuff links that had seen more bloodshed than any human alive. A tie in a shade of red passionate to symbolize life, yet dark enough to resemble blood. Ivan did a quick shave, then wrangled his hair down with product. Yes, he would look royal in his eloquence.

When Ivan entered the living room, Alfred was ready to go in a navy blue suit with red tie. How he finished before Ivan was a mystery of physics, considering he started later than the Russian. “God you took forever man. Let's go.” the American teased, up and ready to depart. The drive was endless insults and jabs. Sometimes Ivan wanted to stab his driver, other times he didn't.

Due to endless rain, the party was being hosted away from the traditional site. A nearby convention centre was stuffed with people of sky high rank socializing and sipping flutes of golden liquid. Ivan was right to overdress for the occasion, on par with the wealthy around him. Alfred was quite plain, clearly unhappy mingling with the upper crust.

“I fuckin' hate this, big guy. The fake smiles, the attitudes, it's fake. It's fake and I hate it. I wish I could eat beer and chicken wings.” the honey blonde muttered to Ivan, not even trying to mingle. “Oh little America, this is the stage where all change begins. A handshake could destroy the world, or save it.” the Russian assured, feeling at ease in the posh atmosphere. It was really the commoners Ivan had trouble reaching, even after all this time.

“That's a lot of big words coming from a bear like you.” Alfred replied, smirking. Ivan rolled his eyes and gestured to a plump woman in a royal blue gown. “Watch and learn.” Ivan instructed seriously, walking over confidently. “Excuse me madam, but your dress is an exquisite shade of blue.” Ivan greeted, using his archaic royal charms. It worked flawlessly.

“Why thank you, mister... ?” the woman greeted warmly, trailing off into a question. “Braginsky, a humble diplomat of the Russian Federation.” Ivan introduced himself politely. “I'm the state secretary for Nebraska, but you can call me Anita.” the state secretary gushed, enjoying the attention. A few other women and a bored looking senator flocked over at her beckoning. 

“You must meet Mr. Braginsky. He is such a charmer.” the fat woman insisted, nudging who was obviously her friend. After exchanging compliments on each other's state of dress, Ivan excused himself. Alfred followed closely behind, looking rather shocked. “Oh man, you're like the rich people whisperer.” he praised in a mostly non-mocking manner. 

“You were not watching. I have now given a positive impression to a state secretary. Secretaries know things and talk to people. I would not be surprised if this simple interaction benefits any Russians in... what was it? Nebraska? Yes, a single compliment will benefit many men.” Ivan explained slowly, understanding why England was so frustrated with him in the past.

The American truly was a wild dog among the delicate nobility. His strength and usual clarity were not welcome here. Ivan pitied the younger nation. Had America come from a different age, he would have thrived alongside a warrior king. Ivan had not been keen on battle personally, at least not at first. Surviving as a sovereign state in 862 AD needed a grizzly set of skills.

Not wishing to dwell on his blood stained past, Ivan noticed Alfred was gone. That was fine, Ivan wanted to fraternize a bit more and improve his country's imagery. His boss would be hopefully be impressed with the extra effort. Still, it was a rather artificial and draining process. Soon, he slumped in a chair, sipping vodka from his flask. Wine was quite disgusting.

“Is the prince of the snobs done prancing around already?” Alfred snorted derisively, sitting beside him. “I have finished as I was told. I wish to sleep. Perhaps I will eat chocolate frosting while watching stupid American shark movies with you.” Ivan replied tiredly. When he didn't hear an insulting answer, he looked over in concern. Alfred was smiling like he'd won a prize. Why was he so happy? No one was happy with the isolated Russian when they met his true self.

“If I am not welcome, I can find other means of entertainment.” Ivan continued softly, wishing he could hide in his long white scarf. “No, you're welcome. That's just... That's the best thing I've heard you say ever!” Alfred replied finally, looking far too excited. “You like eating junk food?” the younger nation asked, clearly scheming. Truthfully, Ivan would have ate all the frosting if he wasn't caught red handed. He had a rather incurable sweet tooth he kept under control for health reasons. “Does it matter?” Ivan countered, wishing so badly he could have a cigarette right now.

“We could... bake something the next time you break into my house. Like cookies or whatever.” Alfred offered. “No. You are England's colony. Anything you cook will be charcoal.” Ivan refused bluntly. “Nuh-uh. You'll nag and bitch at me like a bastard harpy until the food is edible.” Alfred insisted, so unbearably smug. The thought of baking with someone else seemed... wrong. Ivan couldn't nail down why at this very second. “Perhaps.” he replied mysteriously, not giving a true answer.

“Sweet! I have to get baking stuff, and... Oh! I forgot, the speech is going to start soon!” Alfred rambled, only to run off. True to his word, people started pouring into the auditorium area. Ivan's seat was reserved near the front, alongside top notch politicians and other nations. Canada appeared to be Ukraine's latest victim, the pair talking quietly. How many tears had it taken for him to bend to her whim? Ivan had no doubt the wheat blonde Canadian had a hidden chivalrous streak. He was the twin brother of America after all, self titled hero of the world.

Not caring much for the forgettable nation, Ivan turned his attention to a point of interest. There was man fidgeting in his seat, looking tense. His ill fitting coat was misshapen ever so slightly. The odd stranger had caught Ivan's attention right away, clearly not here for social reasons. Ivan had prevented enough attempts on his boss's life to know an assassin when he saw one. No one was going to interfere with Ivan's long term elaborate plans for the United States of America.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was noted by readers in the past on my Tumblr account, gospacegay, that my understanding of the USA government is horribly flawed. I assure you future stories will be more accurate.

Shuffling out of his seat to the aisle, Ivan walked right up to the nervous man. “I know who you are. If you do not come with me, I will inform security.” Ivan greeted coldly. The stranger paled, then nodded. “Lead the way.” he replied. Ivan immediately recognized the accent as one of his dear sister Ekaterina. He was less than amused with his oldest sibling. The scared Ukrainian man followed him right into the men's bathroom.

“Who sent you?” Ivan demanded in Russian, blocking the exit out. Slipping on leather gloves, the tall nation grinned maliciously. The scared assassin remained silent, pulling a gun from his pocket. He pointed the gun at Ivan, shouting something angry and Ukrainian tinted. “I know. I know Kozloff is one of your little pets, your spies. My people know this is all a plan of the Russian government, to take over from inside. Russia is a disease, and killing your pet president will stop outbreak.” The assassin threatened, waving his gun around as he bragged.

Ivan charged as soon as the gun was pointed away from his person. The gun was literally ripped from the human's hand, dislocating the thumb. “It is a shame you are so stupid.” Ivan purred darkly, locking the man in a painful arm bar with frightening agility. Forcing the man to his knees before a toilet, Ivan heard him whimper “My people will rebel, Ukraine will show the world that Russia is evil.”

“So cute.” Ivan hummed, forcing the man's face into the toilet water. He was sure to use light even pressure. Whenever the Russian dumped the body in the nearest lake, it would simply look like a drowning. There was thrashing and struggling for several minutes. After a while, it weakened and stopped. Ivan held the face down a bit longer, just to be certain.

As usual, Alfred had a horrible sense of timing. He pushed through the bathroom doors as Ivan dragged the lifeless corpse from the toilet area. “Hey you're about to miss the speech big guy!” the honey blond greeted only to sigh and cover his face with a both hands. “Why? Why do I always find you doing something gross? You just can't control yourself, can you?” he groaned, looking away. The younger nation paced, shooting accusative glances at Ivan several times. “You know what? I honestly don't care. Shove it in the car trunk and I'll talk about it later.” America finally decided, tossing car keys at Russia's body.

Pleased, Ivan randomly gave Alfred a squeeze. He had suspected Alfred was attempting some form of friendship. “You are a most wonderful host, Alfred.” the Russian commended joyfully. “You are a god damn psychopath. Just don't ruin the party.” the American dismissed, stomping out of the room.

The key to carrying a body from the scene of a crime was to be confident. Ivan had done this enough times that he didn't break stride. The corpse slumped over his shoulder wasn't even rolled in a carpet. Strolling through the main lobby, there was a few employees watching. “Some people don't know when to stop partying, huh?” one noted as he watched Ivan intently. 

“Yes, it seems that way unfortunately.” Ivan half-lied with ease, waving to them with a free hand. Let the fools assume whatever they wanted. He could just kill them too if they questioned his actions. Stashing the body in the cramped trunk was difficult, but not impossible. The Russian missed the days when cars had bigger trunks. Back then you could stash a body, and still have plenty of room for your vacation luggage.

Ivan barely slipped into his seat before the speech on stage began. The American president was walking on stage, a thunderous cheer greeting him. The dark haired president adjusted his glasses as he took the microphone off it's central stand. After tapping the device to check it, he began.

“Hello everyone. I'm so honoured to be here. To be your next president. I feel so loved, to have been chosen when my name was not even on the ballots.” he started, barely heard Russian accent thicker from anxiety. There was a ripple of laughter in the crowd. “When my parents fled Russia, they were welcomed to this beautiful country with love and open arms. Growing up, I was taught to count my blessings, and be patient. I count them now, for I am a blessed man. I grew up seeing the United states of America from below and above that thin line that separates the rich from the rest. I've known hardship and wealth, and I know one thing. America will be respected once again.” he paused dramatically, looking over the crowd.

“So I've invited, the senators, the CEO's, the foreign diplomats... All of these important members of society. I brought you all here to meet, to unify and learn. I hope we can all push towards a better America. My advisors actually prepared me a wonderful speech for the public address. I was going to repeat sections of it here, but I don't want to bore you fine citizens. Instead, I will be answering a few questions from the audience.” he continued, a low hush moving through the crowd.

It seemed questions had been filtered out for relevance and possible absurdity. Ivan was surprised the freshly appointed leader volunteered for a verbal attack on his first day. “As the two time senator for Nevada, I've heard a lot of presidential promises that never happened. What are you going to do that's so great?” a stocky man from the audience asked, handed a microphone by government muscle. Ivan was surprised at how accusative the question sounded. Didn't elected officials give respect here?

“I understand your frustrations senator. As former speaker of the senate, I used to face these same problems every day. I do have a plan, unlike my predecessor.” Kozlov assured humorously, pausing before launching into another spiel. “The United States is not an island, or an isolated world. It is part of a massive community bound by trade and politics. These past twelve years, this wonderful country's relations with the community at large have been damaged. In the case of North and South Korea, irreparably so. We will not thrive alone, no matter how powerful we are.”

The mature words seemed to stun the more jaded aristocrats. Ivan was so proud at this moment, heart thundering. His spies had done so well. Kozlov continued boldly, “I plan to reach out to the Russian, Chinese, and German governments. These foreign powers are fierce enemies, but even greater allies. I want the government to harmonize global trades, and be more hospitable to immigrants like my own parents. There will be financial incentives involved, no doubt. If I have enough time near to end of my term, I will attempt communications with other world leaders.”

The questions went on for an hour in this manner. Ivan was thoroughly impressed by the mature displays as CEOs, powerful stock traders, and senators figuratively attacked his plans via microphone. Not once did Yuri Kozlov stumble into a poorly worded trap of his own making. Wondering how Alfred was fairing in all this, the Russian looked a few seats down.

In the dim light, America's face looked wet with tears as he smiled. Ivan had only seem him this happy once before, when President Washington first addressed his public as a free country. The sight of such joy in a living nation was a rare jewel to be savoured. Ivan couldn't even remember being that happy since the formation of the soviet union. Taking a picture in stealthy fashion, Ivan returned his full attention to the president on stage.


	14. Chapter 14

The after party was more of what Ivan had done earlier. Talking, socializing, and flaunting the heights of the upper crust. Although the Russian ruled without question in this environment, he was tired and bored. He had already rubbed shoulders with some of the most powerful American on the planets for over two hours. Ivan was doggedly avoiding his busty sibling, far too upset with her to speak rationally.

Even if Katyusha knew Ivan's long buried plans, she had no right to interrupt them. Just as he was to escape the crowded building, his scheming sister appeared on the arm of a blushing Canada. “Vanya, where are you going? I have barely seen you all day.” she greeted in Russian, intentionally blocking the door. “I do not wish to speak with a traitor.” Ivan snarled.

“Is everything okay, Ukraine?” Canada asked softly, looking concerned from behind his black framed glasses. “Da, all is good.” she replied in clunky English, wiping away a tear. “I very emotional when seeing little brother.” Ivan rolled his eyes as she lied through her teeth and tears. The lord of bad timing appeared, hands stuffed full of tiny pastries on tooth picks. “Yo bro, what's up?” America greeted loudly, as suave as a pile of horse manure.

“I don't know.” Canada replied honestly. “Move or I will move you.” Ivan growled at his sister, furious. “No, I think not. I don't approve of you manipulating America's elections, Vanya.” Ukraine hissed back, letting go of the startled Canadian's arm. The air grew tense, sparks of aggression gathering between the two Slavic Nations.

“I don't know what's going on here, but this discussion is going outside.” Alfred ordered, dropping the playful act. The group travelled outside, though Canada managed to vanish in the process. It was none of his business anyway. “Now, why are you guys fighting?” America demanded as the trio stood in the parking lot with umbrellas. The pouring rain was enough to ensure they were alone.

Ivan merely grunted, emanating an aura of prickly anger. Ukraine stared at him stubbornly with dark blue eyes, pink lips curled into a frown. She was the first to break the silence, like she always had. “I'm disappointed in you little brother. Planting spies, taking over the presidential elections somehow. Twice. I thought you were better than this.” she spat in odd yet clear Russian, using that guilt inducing maternal tone of hers. Ivan despised being talked to like that.

“As if you are better. Sending assassins to kill Kozloff? Really? How more of your pets are in there, threatening the president's life?” Russia replied sharply. “You killed the American president! That... fool in power is just another one of your toys!” Katyusha yelled, spilling into tears yet again.

Ivan paused his tirade, surprised. He had assumed his deed went undiscovered. “All your former states know Vanya. We know because we are not stupid. We all know you killed him with one of your evil little projects. I'm the only one brave enough to say anything!” Ukraine berated him, nearly shrieking.

“Selkirk was a warmongering fool. Is it so wrong for me to want an American president I can relate to Katya? Is it wrong for me to want peaceful relations and friendship?” Ivan argued, not denying anything. “You don't deserve friends if you keep acting like a monster!” Ukraine said venomously. The words stung like fire, especially from his dear sister. He was lost for a response, retreating several steps. Paling, he took another look at the lithe form of the female nation. She was not his loving sister in this instance, but an enemy. This foe had landed a crippling emotional blow, one that would take time to recover from.

Still in possession of Alfred's car keys, he numbly headed for the black car at the far end of the lot. “Dude, where you going?” Alfred called out, following his long strides. “I don't know. It doesn't matter.” Ivan replied hollowly, wishing he could vomit. Of course, his sister wasn't wrong. That made him the most upset. Russia was a monster, wasn't he? How many people had he murdered and tortured to get everything he wanted? Still, Ivan was unsatisfied and alone. He was always alone.

“That's cool, but give me the keys. I know a place.” Alfred replied, leaving the flustered Ukraine behind. The rain wouldn't let up, weak grey light filtering through the skies. Ivan stared out the window as his host drove. They stopped near a bridge with a fantastic view of some harbour. “Ivan? Big guy? You wanna talk?” Alfred offered awkwardly.

Ivan frowned, remaining nonverbal. There was nothing to talk about. “You shouldn't take what Ukraine said seriously. She doesn't know I asked you to kill Selkirk.” Alfred said carefully, brows furrowed in concern. The Russian merely looked at him briefly and grunted. That little fact didn't matter. Nothing did. “Big guy?” he tried, placing a hand on Ivan shoulder. The ash blonde shrugged it off violently, leaving the parked vehicle completely.

He didn't know exactly what he was doing. Ivan wanted to cry, scream, and break something all at once. Above this molten toxic mix was freezing nothingness, a layer self hatred. “Hey! Where you goin'? I'm talkin' to you ruskie!” Alfred's southern drawl trailed behind him. “Leave me alone!” Ivan yelled, ready to battle. He turned around, seeing the stubborn American before him.

The Russian was expecting a fist fight, a dragged out bloody battle for dominance to the end. He knew how to behave in that scenario. Instead, Alfred inched closer, arms down. The tanned nation hugged him suddenly, making him tense and afraid. What did America want? What was Ivan supposed to do? “You're supposed to hug back, stupid. Trying to be nice for once and this is what I get.” Alfred noted sourly, letting go.

Ivan hugged back after a second of hesitation, giving the friendly gesture everything he had. He pressed close, nuzzling Alfred's soaking wet hair. It felt so human to hold another, to touch. Alfred hugged back, then tried to escape. “Kinda overdoing it man. Like a god damn boa constrictor.” he gasped, unable to break loose. Ivan savoured the contact desperately, knowing it would likely be his last. If only for a second, to be cared about like this. It was a magnificent feeling indeed.

Releasing his victim, Ivan smiled. “Thank you, Alik. You have treated me with such kindness.” he purred, coasting on this rare emotion of contentment. “I didn't do anything.” Alfred mumbled modestly. The Russian swept him into another embrace, much gentler than the first attempt. He hummed, depression melting away with the rain. “Let us go to your place for frosting and B movies, yes?” Ivan proposed happily.


	15. Chapter 15

Visits to the United States of America were never long. The duo dumped the assassin's body in a lake, weighed down by chains and multiple cinder blocks. Afterwords, they ate junk food and watched awful horror movies. Most of the gruesome horrors didn't register to Ivan. He had done most of those things his whole life in a much more efficient and clean method. Alfred was moderately scared, which was puzzling. Had he never killed men in these ways before? Perhaps Alfred's wars were more chivalrous, or less soul destroying.

Ivan wanted to stay another night, but fate dictated differently. As Ivan climbed on board the the private jet at the airport, he looked back with great longing and appreciation. He was thankful for this visit, and the short lived affection lavished upon him. Alfred would be rewarded tenfold, in a meaningful fashion. The Russian was certain of this fact.

As the nature of nation life went, Ivan became quite busy for several months. Rainy spring shifted to blazing hot summer. The American Independence day was coming up soon, something Ivan normally ignored. Due to overwhelming amounts of paper work and public relations visits, Alfred's sweater was only finished now. Ivan intended to mail it at first, but changed his mind. The next world meeting was in Moscow, a prime opportunity to gift it in person.

Sitting in his kitchen, Ivan was pouring over straggler bits of paperwork. It was two months before the next world meeting in Moscow. No one outside of work would be calling him for some time. That was fine. He had his little koshka for company. The unblinking cat stood there watching him, as stuffed creatures tend to do.

“Did I tell you little Koshka, that I might be making a friend soon? I have been so busy, but researched the basic rules of friendship. I think it will work this time.” Ivan crooned joyfully. The cat didn't react, watching with it's glassy stare. “You are such a good listener, my little kitten. I miss you so much.” he continued, petting it absently. Even in death, Koshka's fur was amazingly soft. He had to be gentle with her now, or his strong petting could create bald spots.

His phone rang, which was unusual since it was a weekend. It sounded almost alien at this time. He answered it cautiously, greeting “Hello?” “Sir, I was told to inform you another nation has entered the country.” a bored government goon responded. Oh, more work. “Who was it?” Russia asked dryly. “We... don't know. They landed illegally with a rented plane.” the human answered nervously. Ivan sighed, rubbing his temples. “I will take care of it.” Ivan snapped, hanging up.

Was it Syria or Iraq seeking revenge? Was it any Asian nations attempting to spy on him? Was it Belarus, plotting to 'express love' for him again? Paranoia kicking into overdrive, he checked the layered defences of his home. There was electronic sensors, multiple locks, and several traps in the yard. Should this mystery nation survive this gauntlet of horrors, they deserved to see Ivan's face before he killed them. After all this, he curled up with Koshka on the couch. There was no less than two guns and four knives hidden on his person. 

The hours ticked by as he read, tense and ready to attack. His intelligence agents would report in with vague updates. Ivan knew whoever it was targeting him, or at least his home. Each update confirmed this, evading authorities. After four long hours, Ivan heard a scream of pain from his sunflower garden. Pistol drawn, he immediately headed outside. It was now dark outside, but the dim garden lights were enough to go by.

A figure wearing a grey hooded sweater was snared in an iron bear trap at the base of a massive sunflower patch. Bones and torn shoe was visible, blood dripping over the spring loaded trap. “Who the fuck puts a bear trap in a garden?” the stranger swore. “A person with many enemies, Alik.” Ivan replied in greeting. He paused to see if the affectionate nickname was going to far, but his trespasser didn't notice. The potty mouthed American seemed distracted by a bear trap mangling his right foot.

Ivan holstered his gun and freed Alfred, picking him up bridal style. “I'm not some helpless maiden. Put me down!” the smaller nation complained, wriggling in an uncooperative manner. Predictably, this elicited a howl of pain from America due to injury.

“Do you wish to walk inside?” Ivan challenged darkly. Alfred groaned, mumbling “Whatever” Due to what Ivan knew would be horrendous pain, Alfred was especially useless. Ivan ignored the cursing, humming folk songs of his youth. Stitching flesh, relocating bone, mopping up blood... It was somewhat routine to him. Once the foot looked normal again, Ivan clapped his hands together. “All done.” he sang, pleased to have visitors.


	16. Chapter 16

Admittedly Ivan had not expected his visitor to be a friendly one. He now regretted the small traces of dust downstairs. Aside from the main bedrooms, upstairs was almost completely unused. Most of the guest bedrooms had white sheets covering furniture. They had been like that for almost twenty years. Ivan did his best to clean when he had the time, but the place was enormous. It was meant to hold a family after all.

Alfred was soon coherent again, gingerly touching his repaired foot. Ivan brought a black coffee alongside his tea, more sugar and milk than actual tea. “What brings you to my home?” Ivan asked curiously, placing a tray of homemade cookies. “Well... I have this new TV series at home called 'Greatest American Ninja'. I thought it would be fun to ninja into your house, like you always do. Why is there bear traps in your garden? That's insane!” America replied, mostly making sense.

Ignoring a noun being used as a verb, Ivan smiled. Imitation was the highest form of flattery. Alfred's attempt at stealth was positively adorable. Cookies were consumed, hot beverages sipped. “What the hell is that?” Alfred asked, crumbs going everywhere. Ivan looked in the vague direction his guest had gestured, finding a balding Koshka. 

“That is... Koshka.” Ivan replied hesitantly. Alfred stared at him without a word, then at the cat. “You... had your cat stuffed?” he asked, looking concerned? Disgusted? Ivan couldn't place it at the moment. He held the cat close, becoming defensive. “Koshka was a very good kitty. I wanted more time with her.” he bristled, narrowing his gaze. The Russian expected an insult, but received a tired sigh.

“I suppose you have photo albums of all your cats, arranging in chronological order and colour coded?” Alfred stated with thinly veiled sarcasm. Ivan dropped the hostilities, thankful someone wasn't horrified by him. “Do you wish to see them?” he asked, hope wavering. Alfred was obviously not interested, but his words betrayed otherwise. “Fuck, why not. I can't walk anyway.” he grumbled.

The photo album was thick, spanning over a century. It was almost all the same, page after page. Ivan would be with a cat in front of notable international monuments, looking so happy. The cats varied, some shade of brown. His clothes usually gave away the decade, but he was always alone. Only the soviet years had other other nations in the pictures, and even Ivan knew they looked frightened. 

Alfred said nothing during the explanations, which was abnormal. “... and this is the newest picture. We went to Disney world together, before... Koshka... died of old age.” Ivan stammered, the event fresh in his mind despite being four years ago. He could feel it, an eternal dam of sadness threatening to burst inside him. Ivan tried to think of anything else, but the dead eyes of Koshka bore into him from his lap.

“Ivan, buddy? How long have you been left alone in this house?” Alfred asked in genuine concern, no longer destroying the cookie platter. “I am fine, America.” Ivan replied automatically, jaw tense. “That's not what I asked.” the American snapped impatiently. “Come here. I'm going to hug you.” Alfred ordered roughly. “I do not need your pity, American pig. I am the mighty Russian Federation, and I am to be respected.” Ivan snarled, highly uncomfortable with the idea.

“Oh for fuck sake. You're so stubborn.” Alfred muttered, dragging himself over to Ivan's half of the couch. Ivan stiffened fearfully, clutching Koshka as the alien embrace was engaged. After a few seconds, it was clear this was not a subversive attack. Ivan relaxed, pushing the stuffed cat and album off his lap. With a swift grab, Ivan pulled Alfred into his lap. Feeling slow warmth seeping into his limbs, Ivan returned the hug desperately. After being starved of physical contact forever, he couldn't get enough.

Alfred struggled after several seconds, being melodramatic. “Let me go idiot! You're crushing my ribs!” he accused. “No.” Ivan muttered, muffled as he cuddled his guest. “Come on. Is this how you treat visitors?” the obnoxious American continued protesting. Ivan merely tightened his grip, hiding his face in Alfred's neck. This would be the last one, the last touch. The Russian knew this deep inside, and memorized every part of this moment. It could be the only chance he'd be treated human for years.

“If... you let me go, I'll give you another hug later.” Alfred wheezed. Ivan sniffled, most certainly not upset, and slowly complied. The American was probably lying. Everyone always lied to him about things like this. “If you wish.” Ivan ceded sadly, releasing his prey. He put Alfred back, picking up his things. “Excuse me while I put these away.” Ivan said solemnly, withdrawing from the room. Once upstairs, Ivan washed his face in the bathroom.

“Get yourself together. You are Ivan Braginsky, feared power of Europe! You don't need anyone!” he said to his reflection, forcing his spirits up. He'd stop being depressed, even if he had to make himself do so. After breathing and calming down, he went back to the living room. His tea was ice cold but he didn't much care. “Forgive my actions... I was compromised. What is the nature of your visit, comrade?” Ivan asked formally, wearing the trademark smile he always did.

Alfred looked relieved Ivan was no longer falling apart. “Well I was practising being a ninja to avoid work. Payment negotiations with China have not gone... good. And it's my birthday soon! I'm gonna have a huge party... cake... movies. I was talking to Japan, who is like the video game king. He was pissed I'm being nice to you, but I don't see what the big fuckin' deal is. The cold war was thirty years ago. It's totally done now. So now he isn't coming to the party, but both Italys are coming and Germany, and... Finland I think. I was totally going to invite you. France is going to show up whether I invite him or not, and Spain is a broke ass creeper. But... yeah. You coming?”


	17. Chapter 17

Ivan listened to his guest's rambling, then stared into his tea cup. “I do not think I will be welcome at this event, Alfred. I decline your offer.” he replied honestly. “Oh come on. It's not like you'll be doing anything else, cat man.” the American goaded. Russian huffed, reminded of why he tried to kill Alfred so long ago. Suddenly the wrapped present came to mind.

A spark of light in this dark conversation, Ivan smiled for real. “What?” Alfred asked suspiciously. “Oh, nothing. Just that I have a surprise, America.” The Russian informed teasingly, looking smug. “You're not gonna blow something up are you?” the tanned nation asked bluntly. “No, nothing so... elaborate. I will show you, yes?” Ivan responded with glee. It was fun to watch people overreact to nothing.

After a few suspenseful moments, the purple eyed Slav finally got up to reveal the surprise. He returned from the coat closet with a newspaper wrapped box. Alfred eyed it critically as it was handed to him. “And this is... ?” he trailed off questioningly, slowly tilting the light package. “Happy early birthday, America. I wish upon you many more years of success.” Ivan explained, sincerely meaning it. 

Alfred tore into the present with no warning, an excited child. The box was shredded in moments. The colourful tissue paper was revealed beneath, pausing his frenzy. America gingerly removed a black and blue sweater, the texture plush. “It's so soft! Where did you buy it?” he asked, pulling it over his head. It was slightly baggy, but a good fit.

“I'm offended. I made that personally.” Ivan scoffed, not really upset. “Cool... and a dagger?” Alfred wondered, picking up a sheathed knife. “Oh. Yes. It is an excellent letter opener. I gutted a Nazi officer with it in 1944.” Ivan informed pleasantly. There was a pause, and he wondered if the historically gory weapon was in poor taste.

“Holy fuck that's so cool!” Alfred gushed, taking the perilously sharp weapon out. Examining the blade, the younger nation asked “Is there like, still Nazi blood on it?” Oh, Ivan's cold heart was alight at this moment, bursting with joy at being understood. Destroying lives was bad, but the adrenaline rush of combat felt amazing. Having a just cause increased the high. “No. It would have corroded the blade over time. I did take a picture though.” the Russian informed calmly. “I'll take the picture too... if that's chill with you. Make it a matching set, ya know?” Alfred replied, enamoured with his new gifts.

Ivan was pleased and impressed. He never even thought of making the historical pieces a matching pair. He slipped the dagger in hesitantly before. If Alfred was freaked out by it, Ivan would pass it off as a sick joke. A typical Braginsky manoeuvre as expected by most non-trusting nations. Instead the war mongering American was loving the gesture, completely unafraid.

Maybe. Maybe they could be friends. They did have a few hobbies in common. The internet had mentioned sharing hobbies was very important. “I... will visit on the day of your birthday party, Alfred. For a short time.” Ivan answered cautiously, wringing his hands. “Cool man. I look forward to it.” the American replied. “I will not be partying with the others.” Ivan insisted stiffly. “Got it. Zero tolerance for fun. The mighty Russian Federation has no need for this fun, for it is too inefficient. Beep boop.” Alfred teased in a robotic voice, a twinkle in his baby blue eyes.

Ivan frowned, but said nothing. With no audience, there was no point to insulting his guest. “So... what ya doing?” Alfred prompted, childish like always. “I was working. I was... talking with Koshka about my evening plans.” Ivan replied, uncomfortable without their usual banter.

Alfred whistled, brows raised, before saying “You talk to your dead cat for company? Holy shit... Wow. Okay. You. Me, we're doing something today. Something that living normal people do.” “Like what?” Ivan grumbled, already annoyed. “I don't know. Stuff. What do you do normally?” Alfred asked, resuming his quest to kill every cookie on the platter.

Ivan had to think about that. It had been a while since he last went out. “I work, and train with weights, and... fish a few times a year. I go bear hunting in the fall. I go to the shooting range to test new gun models for my boss. I travel a lot, but that's for work. I read, I knit... I... that is it.” he summarized. Ivan also painted, but he viewed the hobby as a feminine one. It would only be fuel for ridicule from others. He also drank to numb intense loneliness, but it was more of a crutch than a habit. Not that he felt alone. That would mean having weaknesses.

“So adventurous. So I saw a flyer for this festival. I think we'll go.” Alfred said, sarcasm fading to genuine interest. After a bit, his foot was fully operational again. After an hour's drive to Pushkino, a small city north of Moscow, they arrived at a carnival. The sun, as well as sunflowers and horses, was a prevailing theme. “A summer solstice fair.” Ivan breathed, feeling a tingle of excitement. “I almost forgot I had those.” he said quietly. There was authentic Russian cooking abound at food stalls. There was small games and a petting zoo. As Alfred dragged Ivan to everything in sight, he made cheers and crows of delight. Russia was slowly acclimating to the atmosphere of joy radiating from the young Russians around him.

After feeding some goats at the petting zoo area, America was talking a mile a minute. “... and Mattie was totally pissed, but whatever. He's not mad at me now that –” The honey blonde tripped on a small rock, landing face first in a mud puddle. The classic comedy of the situation was undeniable. A ripple of laughter escaped Ivan, followed by another. When Alfred squinted in anger with a mud streaked expression, the Russian roared jubilantly, clutching his gut.

“You're a dick.” Alfred pouted, mourning his white cotton shirt. Catching his breath, Ivan pulled the muddied blonde off the ground. “Thank you, America. I am most entertained.” he said with a smirk. All too soon, both their cell phones were going off. America's boss sounded livid, faded Russian accent audible from a few feet away.

“Yes, sir. I know, I know... I'll go try again.” Alfred whined, rolling his eyes. He hung up, Ivan also finished attending to work texts. His superiors had no clue he was blowing off work for a summer fair. “Fuck. I have to go renegotiate with China again.” the younger nation sighed, running a hand through golden locks. Ivan imagined Kozlov scolding America like a mother hen over the phone. The scene was a funny one.

“You said they were not going well.” Ivan prompted conversation while buying a candied apple. “No. I want to start paying him back but the interest rate is like a million percent. There's no point if the interest is higher than the minimum payment.” Alfred lamented, walking along. The Russian nodded, following beside him. Licking his candy apple in thought, Ivan came to a conclusion.

“I will come with you.” Ivan stated authoritatively. “But... why?” Alfred wondered, baffled. Ivan remained silent, lighting another cigarette. “Um... well. Okay I guess. I'll let the boss know, then we can head off.” the American continued, dialing a number. Ivan ended the process before it could be finished. “No. No one will know.” the Russian ordered, staring Alfred in the eyes. There was a tense moment, then Alfred shrugged. “Fine. Be weird.” he scoffed.


	18. Chapter 18

After returning home, Ivan unceremoniously kicked Alfred out of the house. He had some serious political muscle to flex and needed to prepare. The ash blonde was going to go in full military dress like he used to, one aspect of his devised psychological battle. It was intimidating, demanding, almost insulting in another person's home. The natural instinct was to heed a man in uniform.

Going toe to toe with China, or Japan for that matter, was a war of subtleties. An entire conversation could pass without a word being uttered. Body language and presentation were key. Sending America to negotiate was like making a young child solve calculus. It would never end productively.

Tracking Alfred through his phone use, Ivan travelled in secret. To keep the iron willed Putin off his tail, Ivan told partial truth. He was patching up trade with China, and financially allying more closely to the USA... mostly. The strangling budget Ivan was forced to work with was expanded for the occasion, since the trip was dual purpose.

After a hideously long eight hour flight to Beijing, the capitol of China, Ivan slipped airport security with a fake passport. The Russian had several fraudulent papers in English, Russian, and French. Naturally, he was fluent in all of those languages. He could be a ghost and vanish from one country to another without warning. It was another aspect of his multifaceted intimidation. Unpredictable targets were more unsettling, be they prey or hunter.

China's house was an ancient wooden palace, lovingly maintained and groomed. The memorable curved roofs had exotic flower baskets and charms hanging from them. On any other house, it would look absurd. Here, it seemed almost necessary. Following the movement of a few house servants, Ivan simply walked into the house. Inside, the air didn't stink as much, which was nice.

While Ivan's lesser mansion had many small rooms to retain the heat, China had less rooms that were airy and large. It was a bit distressing to see almost all the guest rooms used or cleaned recently. Ivan had always struggled to keep a hold of his jealousy, and it burned brightly now. He wanted people to love him! He wanted people to visit and laugh with him! Everyone thought China was so cultured and interesting, sending tourists with their fat loose wallets. Maybe Ivan wanted a little attention too!

Resisting the urge to burn the house down, Ivan padded downstairs carefully. He could hear talking from China's dining room, one voice obnoxiously loud as it competed with another just as arrogant. Yes, he was right on time. “... can't we just be reasonable? The principle amount is so far from the interest it's crazy. That much money doesn't exist in the entire world!” Alfred complained, echoing into the ornate red kitchen. “That is not my problem, America. You should have read my terms and conditions before agreeing to let me purchase your debt.” China replied coolly.

The two nations were engrossed in conversation, enough so that Ivan was now in the room unnoticed. “Ah, China. Old comrade.” Ivan greeted in sultry fashion, only six feet away from the male. Long black Hair drawn into a ponytail, China looked with brows raised in surprise over his shoulder. “Oh... Russia. How pleasant to see you.” he greeted flatly. His body language said otherwise, tense and ready to snap. Ivan was pleased, for his target was already on edge. Nervous people make errors in judgment all the time.

“I have business with you.” Ivan stated, pushing America out of his chair and taking the seat. He lit a fresh cigarette without asking. It was all part of his game. “Fuck you too buddy.” America grumbled, taking another seat while looking frustrated. “Of course.” China replied smoothly, eyes narrowed. Ivan made a point of his dominance by tapped cigarette ashes into a nearby cup. China responded in kind with a sly smirk, challenging him.

“My business is your little fun with America.” Ivan stated. “I don't know what you speak of old friend.” China lied unflinchingly, knowing exactly what the topic was. “It was lovely when I had Tsars, grace... elegance... beauty. But they were rarely kind to the serfdom below. It was ultimately their down fall. I often gleam meaning from that night, comrade.” the Russian spoke, never ceasing his stare down with half lidded eyes.

“Historical analogies are unnecessary here.” China snapped. Ivan took a long drag of his smoke, lengthening the moment because he could. “Those guns and tanks your mighty army has... they are so lovely aren't they. So efficient. So... affordable. I'm impressed.” the Russian purred, a malicious gleam in his royal purple eyes. He didn't even need to attach a threat to his statement, for the obvious lurked beneath. Russian contacts sold weapons to the Chinese military since the mid 70's. It would be crippling If Ivan ratcheted the price to full market value.

China paled slightly, clearing his throat. He dropped that cocky expression of his, replying “Hasty decisions are often the most regrettable ones.” Ivan rolled the cigarette in his fingers, completely casual. “I do love those American fortune cookie sayings. But I never let them sway my decisions. I prefer to spend my time working, helping out others.” the ash blonde answered, totally ignoring China's words. The old Asian nation knew exactly what was at stake, and threatening Russia with proverbs would accomplish nothing. Every world leader with eyes knew America and Russia were somewhat allied on the financial stage.

The two older nations remained silent, assessing each other as America fidgeted in his chair. Ivan rubbed his temples and looked over, exasperated. The fool was ruining his concentration. “Please be still, America.” he asked tiredly. “Jesus fuck this is boring.” Alfred complained loudly, glaring back angrily. The tanned blonde was painfully bad at diplomacy it seemed.

“Good point, America. I will call your people after I consider your request. Unfortunately, I am very busy and must ask you both to leave.” China answered calmly, subconscious tics giving away his distress. “Cool. Let's go Ivan. I'm totally starving.” Alfred cheered, eager to flee. Ivan was surprised Alfred would use his real name with such ease. It seemed too intimate an act to say in front of enemies. 

Then again... Perhaps Alfred wasn't stupid at all. Maybe he was directly referring to Ivan in a friendly manner. Maybe he was showing China how close he was to Russia, a nuclear armed direct neighbour. If that was the case, Alfred was a genius. Ivan gladly stole the power play for himself. “Yes, Alfred. A snack would be nice.” Russia replied happily, smiling for real. China's eyes widened, betraying his poker face bluff. Mission accomplished, Ivan dropped his finished cigarette into Alfred's empty drink. A final insult to seal a perfect victory.


	19. Chapter 19

Later, Ivan and Alfred were at the airport eating ice cream cones. It wasn't that they wanted to be there. Between the two of them, neither one knew a single word of Mandarin. The insanely busy international airport was the only place they could find workers that knew foreign languages. They became lost at least three times just getting back to the airport.

“I don't know what the hell you guys were talking about back there. I hope that grouchy bastard realizes his interest rate is like, physically impossible.” Alfred commented, between licks of frozen treat. “He will come to his senses. A visit with friends really clears the mind.” Ivan replied sagely, double meanings abound. “Friends? Dude, he hates everyone. Everyone one in there hated each other, well kinda. I don't... think you hate me. You haven't tried to stab me in forever.” Alfred rambled, ice cream vanishing quickly.

Ivan took his time with a single scoop of vanilla, chuckling softly. “That is true, Alik. I have not been stabbing you at all. I must be sick.” he joked, not too heavy on the sarcasm for once. “I'll asked Dr. Stab-a-lot herself to give you a check up.” Alfred replied quickly. Ivan froze, the thought of his insane little sister haunting him. “Please don't.” Ivan requested softly, barely heard.

“We're breakfast bros, big guy. I wouldn't sick Belarus on you like that.” Alfred assured with a rough pat on the back. People looked them strangely. A fully dressed Russian military commander and a blatantly American business man eating ice cream on a hello kitty bench was an odd sight after all.

Ivan's life was quick to shift back to regular patterns. Work, eat, sleep, morning tea on his porch... It was repeated for three weeks. Ivan was lost in the routine, ignoring the growing anxiety in his mind. It was all that stupid American's fault, inviting him out to that party. He never said what kind of party, where it was, or even the time. Worst of all, most of the UN members would be there. Ivan had personally invaded, insulted, or offended every member of the UN at least once since it's formation. To even think of including Ivan in parties was social suicide on Alfred's part.

Staring at forms from the government, Ivan could feel his palms sweating. He hated being like this, all tied up in knots inside. It was a day before he was heading off to the USA, and he couldn't remain calm at all. He was the Russian Federation! He was the most nuclear armed nation to ever exist. He wasn't allowed to be nervous before parties. Ivan mentally scolded himself, sitting a little straighter. The phone unexpectedly rang, startling the Russian.

“Hello?” he answered, heart still going. “Heeey buddy... What's... Going on?” a very drunk America slurred. He sounded absolutely wasted. As Ivan pondered how to exploit this, the voice on the phone continued “So. No party. I don't know what happened... but fuck... it's all fucked.” “What?” Ivan asked, struggling to pull words from the inebriated rambling. “China agreed to negotiate the payments... awesome? Then he said... It was oh my god, like... so awful. Then everyone read the e-mail... now they won't come to my party.” Alfred whined.

Political intrigue was always interesting. Ivan decided to actually pay attention. “E-mails?” he asked, hoping for a response below yelling level. “China, that ass, fuckin'... released old videos from Guantanamo Bay... Human rights violations... and England was all wanker this, bloody that. The UN guys think I'm some kind of monster. The only guy coming is France...” Alfred continued forever, becoming less coherent.

“Alfred, drinking does not dull the pain of rejection.” Ivan chided. He was a hypocrite of course, with his own alcohol on the desk. The thought of a vulnerable drunk America only in the presence of France was concerning. France was far from being a rapist, at least in modern times. Drunks, male or female, still had a tendency of ending up in France's bed. The very thought made Ivan angry enough to crush his phone. Alfred was his... comrade? Close acquaintance? The label wasn't important right now. Ivan didn't allow such questionable people near his... associates.

“... So. I cancelled the party. Only creepy fuckers were going to show up anyway.” Alfred concluded, briefly more clear. “Very well. I will be coming over regardless.” Ivan replied, glancing at his government purchased plane tickets. Coach seats, of course the cheap bastards would send their own kin overseas in such frugality. “What?” Alfred asked, surprised as ever. 

“My plane tickets cannot be refunded. I will not be putting them to waste.” Ivan explained honestly, omitting a few extra things. Things like horribly maiming France, or cutting off his fingers until he sings the Russian anthem... again. It would feel so liberating to release this toxic thirst for vengeance instead of bottling it up.

There was groaning on the line, then a long “Fiiine. I'm not entertaining you though. Fuckin' wrecked.” This was a good invitation as any other to Ivan's ears. A brief sense of relief washed over the previously nervous Russian. He was welcome for a visit, and his host clearly wasn't upset. It was a novel sensation to be wanted somewhere, like that first juicy bite into a fresh fruit. 

Ivan was packed and out that night. It had been a hassle to switch flights to an earlier departure. Dealing with a crying child on an express coach flight was hellish. The jet lag of going half way around the world was dragging him down. None of this mattered. It was nearly morning in Washington DC when a sleep deprived Ivan arrived on the patio of America house. The lights were on inside despite the mercilessly early hour. Not even the sun had roused from his slumber yet.

Breezing past the unlocked front door, Ivan saw what he had feared. France had wrapped an arm around an unconscious Alfred on the couch, watching a film with french subtitles at low volume. Spain and Mexico were also passed out in arm chairs, snoring softly. America's hair was done up in embarrassing pink bows, a mess of red, white, and blue glitter dumped on him.

“Hello Russia, I see you came early for the party.” France greeted softly in french, enjoying himself too much like always. “What have you done to America?” Ivan demanded in the same tongue, tensed. “Oh, I had my fun, as did the others. I think I had much more fun though.” he replied coyly, winking. Oh no. Russia was too late. France had defiled yet another nation under vulnerable circumstances! That vile creature! That untrustworthy bastard was going to die!


	20. Chapter 20

Shaking with rage, Ivan pulled a sword from his luggage. “You... You touched him. You took advantage of him! My only friend left in this world!” Ivan hissed in Russian, feeling madness creep in from the depths. The desire to obliterate, kill, and destroy washed over him. France paled and ducked as Ivan attacked. Red with rage. Red with vengeance. Violet eyes glowed with nuclear madness as Ivan trapped the shorter Frenchman in a corner.

Deeply cut in several places, France had not avoided the flurry of attacks unscathed. Bleeding heavily, he was hiding poorly behind a potted plant. “Please Russia, spare me! I did nothing! I did nothing at all!” he begged in his native language, stinking of fear and blood. Killing the inhuman creature could be so easy, a single strike from Ivan's beloved sword. Ivan arced high for the death blow as France crumpled and started sobbing.

A voice seeming so far away snapped Ivan out of his blood lust. “Ivan, what are you doing?” A very groggy Alfred asked, not entirely awake. Ivan paused, then blinked. He looked around the now wrecked living room. Ivan's new summer clothes were splattered in France's blood, halos of crimson on the floor. “I do not know.” he answered truthfully in English, dropping the sword on the floor.

Curiously, Spain and Mexico were sound asleep after all the ruckus. France continued to cry, clutching at his wounds. Ivan sat beside Alfred, removing the humiliating hair bows with utmost care. “Why am I covered in glitter? Why are you covered in in blood?” the honey blonde grumbled, disorientated. The livid fury drained away as quickly as it had come, leaving Ivan tired. “Alik. Do you feel uncomfortable or painful anywhere?” Ivan asked slowly, searching for bruises or signs of abuse.

Alfred shook his head, replying “Just hungover.” Ivan sagged forward, relieved. His associate was okay. He had made it there in time before anything horrible occurred. “You look like shit, buddy.” the freckled nation commented, shaking glitter off his shirt. “Jet lag is taxing.” Ivan admitted, not having slept since yesterday. He had a hard time sleeping in general as of late. It was all quite mysterious to him.

Now that America was awake and sober, he couldn't possibly be harmed by anyone. Apparently the three other nations had come over anyway to trash Alfred's house as an elaborate prank. Ivan helped sweep up glitter off the hardwood floor, a large yawn slipping out of him. France was carried out by Spain and Mexico an hour earlier after fainting from terror and blood loss. It made the room feel better already.

“Ivan, go to bed.” Alfred ordered sternly, a tone that didn't suit his breezy nature. “No one tells me what to do. I choose to go to bed.” Ivan replied proudly, not caring if he was acting like a child. “Yeah, yeah. Mighty Russian Federation this and that.” Alfred dismissed, rolling his eyes. “Thank you for acknowledging that I'm more powerful than you.” Ivan sneered, more playful than cruel. “You are just... the worst! I'm clearly stronger.” Alfred argued poorly, ridiculous like always.

“I don't believe that.” Ivan challenged, grinning cruelly. Alfred took the bait, he always did. It was how they always wound up doing stupid stunts during world meetings. Minutes later, they were both outside. The stubborn American was going to lift more cars than him, or something equally fruitless. Ivan couldn't help but notice how soft the lawn looked. Fresh green grass bathing in the warm rays of a late morning sun.

Sitting in the yard, he admired the modest rose bushes that lined the edge of the property. The sun was pleasant on Ivan's chilly skin, beckoning him to rest. While Alfred was dragging things out of his stuffed garage, it couldn't hurt to close his eyes. Nothing bad could possibly happen, right?

The first thing to register was the darkness. Ivan was in a dark place, weakly lit by a small American flag nightlight. He was under thin flannel covers, still in his day clothes. He was hugging a thick pillow, completely askew on the queen sized mattress. The sheets had not been washed in a long time, distinctively scented. Yes, it was crystal clear what room this was.

He had woken up in Alfred's room. That could only mean he was carried in by the room's owner after falling asleep on the lawn. Ivan snuggled the pillow closer, lost in thought. Did this mean Ivan had made a friend? The possessive Russian considered America a friend, but only privately. The word 'friend' had never directly applied to either nation seriously. The fact remained that Alfred was treating Ivan as nicely as he had before 1917.

The idea of being friends with anything was invigorating. Ivan would be sure to tell Koshka all about this upon returning home. Kicking off the covers, Ivan ran downstairs in a hurry. Alfred was in the kitchen, frying chicken strips. His forgettable sibling, Canada, was talking with him while sipping a beverage. “Matvey!” Ivan cheered, pinning the wheaten blonde in a punishing hug. Before the quiet nation could squeak out protests, Ivan dropped him thoughtlessly, tackling Alfred.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kind of made France the bad guy in this one, but he creeps me the hell out.

“Good morning Alik!” Ivan greeted, sitting on his host. His joyous mood couldn't be squished by anything. Like his rage, joy could become so consuming. Trapped while still clutching a spatula, Alfred twisted around so he could see. “Hey. You're excited.” he greeted. “Happy birthday!” Ivan replied, squeezing Alfred tight when he tried to wriggle free. Ivan didn't mention the nation's age directly. He noticed that America stopped mentioning his age completely at the beginning of the twenty first century. Ivan had done the same after the twelfth century. His bosses usually assumed he was lying about his age after three generations.

Canada watched the exchange between sips of coffee, somewhat perplexed. “I didn't know you could be so friendly, Russia.” he commented, having a strange drawl differing from his American sibling. “Yes. I made a friend. I decided this today.” Ivan informed, stating what was now a solid fact in his mind. “I don't think you understand how friendship works. You can't order people to –” Alfred was silenced as he was snuggled painfully tight. It felt so good to touch another living person. Alfred tapped on the floor, and Ivan relented.

Ivan mostly resumed normal interactions, seating himself. Lighting a cigarette, he looked over with a bored expression at Canada. “Hey! Use an ash tray ruskie! That table is expensive!” Alfred scolded sharply, sliding one over. Taking the ash tray, Ivan rolled his eyes but obeyed. Resuming staring at Canada, Ivan analyzed every tic and action. He enjoyed dissecting others, making them squirm. It was an unhealthy habit, but so was smoking. 

“Alfie? Why is he staring at me?” Canada asked nervously, edging away in his chair. “Stop being weird to Matthew, Ivan.” Alfred said, not really paying attention. “Ruining all my fun.” Ivan muttered in his native language, taking a drag of his smoke. A minute later, a heaping plate of fried chicken was placed on the table. Ivan took one without asking, enjoying the strip of meat. He ignored Alfred glaring at him. “So... no party... what do you want to do, eh?” Canada asked, now several chairs away from Russia.

“Does it really matter? I'm ruined!” Alfred complained, tearing into a fried chicken chunk. “Why is that? Your drunk rambling was not clear.” Ivan inquired, curious. Alfred's phone was slid to him, a video set to play. He watched it with distant interest, looking at the tiny screen. It was a prisoner being tortured in American prison clothes, a rather bloody and inefficient procedure. The video was tame in Ivan's opinion, even if it violated a dozen human rights.

“That was a poor form of torture. They should have started with water boarding. No bruises. No mess. All results. Threatening to kill their family is even easier.” Ivan criticized, sliding the phone back. “Of course you would say that, you psychotic bastard.” Alfred retorted, his heart not really in it. “Cheer up Alik. I have done much worse, and I am still invited to world meetings.” Ivan purred, offering a smile. 

Frustrated, Alfred slammed a fist on his supposedly expensive table. A small cracking noise was heard. “Yeah, because they're scared of you for some stupid reason! Maybe you eat babies... I don't know! Not my business to know... but I have a reputation to maintain. I have charities and senators to meet. This video China leaked is shitting on all of that. I've already had two public appearance cancellations because of this! I'll never be able to show my face at a party again!”

Ivan darkened with jealousy as Alfred spoke. It had been centuries since the Russian been so gloriously popular. Some days he just felt like a washed out war dog with no battle to wage. Canada paled slightly and avoided eye contact with him. A spineless coward like the rest. Maybe Ivan should just murder him. No... no... It wouldn't change anything. He would just be alone... again.

“... but... I am glad you came. I'm surprised France didn't try to rape me in my sleep.” Alfred continued, mood lightening up. “Only because I tried to kill him. He is not to be trusted.” Ivan muttered, still brooding. Old memories of France making moves on a much younger Russia floated up, making him shudder. “Huh... Guess I owe you one there.” Alfred replied, oblivious as ever.

Still extremely upset, Alfred refused to do anything interactive. They ended up watching movies. Canada picked the first one, but they barely made it twenty minutes in. It was a horribly inspirational sports movie where nobody died at all. The second movie was a suspenseful feature of Ivan's choosing. It was more artistic than straightforward, about a man escaping a virtual reality society. Alfred was clutching a pillow by the end. Canada would be shocked at times, muttering things like “Was that really necessary?” Ivan personally thought it was well crafted.

The last movie was easily the worst. It was procedural crime drama that could kill from how boring it was. Canada fell asleep watching it due to the late hour. Still stuck in Russian time, Ivan was wide awake. After Alfred started nodding off, Ivan simply left the couch to occupy himself. By the time the shitty movie ended, Ivan had already read all of America's emails, organized the kitchen, and alphabetized the book shelves. Turning the TV off, Ivan took stock of the situation.

Alfred looked so mature in his sleep, glasses askew. There was the faintest laugh lines on his otherwise smooth face. A splash of freckles spanned across his features. With his deep tan and sun bleached hair, the young nation distantly resembled a beautiful sunflower. Deciding what to do, Ivan abandoned Canada on the couch.

America was carefully scooped into Ivan's arms, his rest unbroken. Laying the freckled nation on his bed upstairs, Ivan hesitated. What did friends do without pushing boundaries? That internet article completely escaped Ivan at the moment. Being nice... sharing interests... strictly clothes on type things? He couldn't remember. Oh well. Ivan would just improvise, for he was very resourceful.

Tucking Alfred under thin covers, Ivan lay beside him in thought. He might as well try to nap and regular to USA time zones. Heaving a sigh, he pushed off the bed and went to recover his luggage. He discovered his sword clean and propped up by the door. That was nice. Next to that was a grey luggage case with Cyrillic labels. Dragging all of this upstairs, Ivan paused in front of Alfred's door.

His clothes would still be on, and it wasn't like Alfred's privacy was important. Yeah, it would be okay. Sneaking in quietly, Ivan put his luggage beside the antique wooden dresser. Easing onto the mattress, Ivan took up the remainder of space. Fearing he may fall off, Ivan slid closer to the centre. Crushed against Alfred, the ash blonde didn't much mind. Until four years ago, Ivan always napped with his precious Koshka wrapped around him, closer still than his precious white scarf.

Gently brushing a thumb against Alfred's cheek, Ivan pondered things. He had made a friend, a real friend. Koshka would be so proud, if cats could be proud about others. They could be selfish. It was funny how Ivan was always pulled to selfish people. Once Ivan had been happy to associate with France, until the romance nation tried to put moves on him. Now it was America, the most egotistical nation to grace media for the past century. Was Ivan making a mistake? Alfred wasn't trying to kill him or do anything inappropriate... yet. Trying not to dwell on that thought, Ivan finally rested.


	22. Chapter 22

Ten years after America's payments to China had been negotiated, tensions were still palpable. China was the master of holding grudges after all. It was inevitable that war would breakout. Ivan was not surprised when China attacked Russia to claim a few towns on his eastern most border. Vladimir Putin, despite his faltering health, had been wise enough to line that region with troops. They spent weeks disguised as civilians, waiting for the first strike. Chinese and North Korean forces battled native Russians bitterly for the insignificant town of Yerofey Pavlovich, ending in a stalemate.

Ivan wasn't too concerned until the third week of the siege. Supplies for the troops had run low and Chinese spies had sabotaged the improvised airport. It was time to take this seriously. As Ivan donned his military gear to join the latest group of reinforcements, he felt a a bittersweet mix of joy and dread. He despised any action that resulted in the loss of his precious citizens. On the other hand, Ivan thrived in combat. He was destruction and pain, an instant boon for those he supported.

The flight there was noisy, a metal cockpit jammed with excited Russian soldiers. “We're going to destroy them, make those Chinese pigs regret crossing the fatherland.” one man bragged. Several others cheered in agreement. Although Ivan was the second highest rank possible in the army, he wore common colours and gear. The dim lighting of the plane acted as camouflage. You couldn't tell Ivan was powerful enough to order entire fleets unless you really squinted. “Yeah, right? We trained for this. We're going to do great!” another soldier replied, elbowing the bulky Ivan. The human suddenly paled, spotting Ivan's atmospheric rank on his shoulder. “Sorry sir, I didn't even... I...” He shut up quickly, saluting him out of instinct.

Ivan smiled, entertained by the grovelling. Every soldier stiffened in fearful respect, realizing just how important the ash blonde was. “At ease, men. I been ordered here like all of you.” Russia soothed. They hardly relaxed, only the two squad commanders bold enough to approach Ivan. He interrupted them before they even dared asked stupid questions.

“The president had taken personal interest in this skirmish. I volunteered to be his eyes.” Ivan informed flatly. The two dozen soldiers aboard the plane were in awe, whispers of “The president himself!” echoing faintly. The already tangible presence of excitement grew thicker despite the respect imposed silence. Ivan understood this well enough. It was immensely flattering, like when Ivan's prince's and lords used to ride into battle alongside him. It made you feel like you could do anything.

After napping while sitting up, the plane was closing in on it's location. Since the landing strip was bombed beyond recognition, everyone had to drop in under cover of darkness. Thankful for the muggy spring rains of Russia, clouds completely covered a luminous full moon. Heavy large parachute packs were being strapped on in relative silence. As the drop zone neared, tensions mounted. Both squad leaders had detailed maps of the area. Everyone was well informed on where to go and when.

The gaping rear door lowered, red lights on. Wind howled and ripped at their clothes as the soldier's stood in perfect lines. A lesser lieutenant was waving soldiers through as they jumped into the inky darkness. Without hesitation, Ivan peered at the misty world below, then jumped.

Screaming wind, the sensation of flight. It always made his heart race. Looking with great effort at his altitude watch, Ivan pulled the cord. Jerked upwards hard by his torso, the ground was sharply coming into focus. He landed with a soggy tumble, rolling as he had been trained. You had land that way or the head on force could break bones. 

Ditching the soiled parachute, Ivan lay low and listened. He could hear wet splatters of others landing. So far, there was no distinctive Asian chatter or gun fire. Maintaining strict radio silence, Ivan crept along. He was soon joined by three soggy soldiers. Those few men soon became ten, then twenty.

In thirty minutes, forty eight elite men had gathered south of the town. A Chinese barricade was being constructed to the north to interrupt the Trans-Siberian rail route. That left the southern flank thinly manned. Without exchanging words, the Russian soldiers communicated via writing and basic hand signals. Everyone in position, Ivan blew a whistle hard.

All hell broke loose. Both massive packs of soldiers unleashed themselves on the enemy. Sleepy Chinese soldiers were torn to shreds by bullets and knives. Men attacked like beasts, jumping low walls and breaking into buildings. Only Russian citizens were spared. Ivan gave into blood lust, killing and maiming. He was the crest of the wave, the first to kick down doors, the first to draw blood.


	23. Chapter 23

The southern gate of the small mining town was secured quickly. Chinese weapons, which happened to be Russian brands, were picked up by Ivan's troops. Better to waste the enemies ammunition before your own. A shot of the rifle, the slash of a sword. Ivan's core group had make it to the medical clinic in the heart of the town. His fury faded, replaced by exhaustion. Still, he wasn't done. Intelligence reports noted several hundred civilians trapped in or around this vicinity.

The clinic was abandoned on the ground floor. Arcs of blood peppered the walls, bullet holes abundant. Several dead soldiers from both sides had yet to be recovered. The second floor had citizens huddled up in windowless closets, pensive and fearful. Upon seeing their own troops, the women and children teared up from hope. Most of the men appeared to be dead in the halls, strewn like rag dolls. Improvised weapons and personally owned fire arms were often at there sides.

This was no time to mourn. Ivan steeled himself to the sight, letting it fuel his hatred for the enemy. The radio silence was broken, echoes of “location secured” heard from Ivan's filthy gear. There had to be at least 200 children hiding in this building alone. Now all they had to do was keep the clinic defended long enough for reinforcements to rescue them.

Feeling confident, Ivan looked out the window. He paled instantly. There was too many enemy soldiers. He could see them, waves of Chinese soldiers washing in from the north. No doubt they were reacting to the seizure of the southern half of town. Well, taking what was left of it. Many citizens outside of the stone walled clinic were dead or hiding. Several houses were flame licked craters and crumbling plaster.

Ivan had only brought forty eight special forces types, including five medics to tend to everyone. Several men were already laid out upstairs or dead. Their evacuation team was a forced of lesser trained men, roughly 200 in number. The Chinese easily had at least 400 out there, all wearing Ivan's own top of the line gear. They were going to die. Ivan, and all his hopeful patriotic troops, they were throwing away their lives for nothing. Swallowing the grim news, Ivan was determined to beat the odds. He had to, to save the the children trapped in this wasteland.

The plan was simple and impulsive. Snipers would pick off enemies from the roof, while the old soviet hospital would serve as a natural choke point. Minutes seemed like hours. Dozens of Chinese lay dead, choking up the entrance until you could barely see through the shattered glass doors. Ivan's plan was working, although barely. The enemy's own reinforcements had arrived faster it seemed. They were now currently outnumbered immensely. The crack team of Russian combatants was thinned down to thirty, morale dragging low.

They had plenty of ammunition left, and a full medical team. The children were safe. It was all Ivan cared about in his condition. He had been perched by the main choke point, firing for what felt like a century. His arms were tired, eyed heavy. His urban camouflage suit was stained dark red from his own blood. “Please, Commander Braginsky. Go to the doctors upstairs!” a lesser soldier begged, replacing his position as Ivan rolled over in agony.

“The... hostages are secure... yes?” Ivan rasped, registering nothing as his ears rang painfully. Unable to stand in his state, Ivan crawled a few feet away. Coughing up blood caught in his lungs, he closed his eyes. He was a mess. It was true. The bulky Russian had taken his nation born immortality for granted. He took larger risks on the front line, often committing insane acts to rescue another soldier. 

All for nothing. He may be immortal, but damage this extensive took days to deal. Every bullet hole stung and burned, leaking warm scarlet. He could smell nothing but gun residue and rusty copper. Laying on the floor, Ivan let out a long sigh. Resting his sleep deprived body, soothing darkness enveloped his field of vision. He faded away.

Wetness, and soft textures entered his frazzled mind. Ivan felt heavy, his body attempting to revive itself. Systems painfully began moving and pumping. He screamed, control shredded as eyes popped open. Above him was a tan face framed by gold. Alfred. Brain foggy, Ivan started coughing and shaking violently. Dark blood was expelled, contrasting from the retro linoleum floors. The dim electric lighting of the room flickered constantly.

“Su-unf-f-flower.” Ivan managed to stammer, pawing weakly for his gun. It was gone. “Stay still you stubborn idiot.” America whispered in Russian, wiping his face gently. The wet cloth always wiped away red. “Child-d-dren?” Ivan asked. “Safe.” Alfred replied simply, smiling sadly. Ivan remained silent after that, drifting on the foggy boundaries of life and death. He distantly recalled being carried bridal style, lolled against a smaller shoulder. Ivan didn't have the strength to protest otherwise.


	24. Chapter 24

An unknown amount of time later, Ivan woke up on a plane. He still felt weak, but his mind was finally sharp. He would have been naked under the fluffy blankets if it wasn't for the thick bandages covering most of his body. He seemed to be laying on an army cot screwed to the floor of the small aircraft. Several chairs had been removed for the occasion. Ivan coughed, reaching out for the distinct form of America some feet away.

“You were dead for three hours.” Alfred said in a serious tone, back turned to Ivan. There was the distinctive snap of rubber gloves being peeled off, the sip of a heavy drink. “There was twelve soldiers left in the clinic when I showed up. Twelve. Did you even think before you charged in there? Did you even double check your intelligence sources?” the honey blonde yelled in outrage, twisting around to face the Russian.

Ivan looked up from the cot sheepishly, saying nothing. He admittedly didn't check the quality of the intelligence reports, anxious to rescue the trapped citizens. “Alik, I... I'm sorry.” Ivan eventually whispered. Alfred's expression of contempt soften to one of loss. “You died. You fuckin' died.” he muttered, sipping his dark brown beverage. Ivan gestured with a curl of his fingers for Alfred to come closer.

The younger nation complied, sitting on the floor next to him. Resting a weary head on Ivan's side, Alfred looked at him. Sky blue eyes were stained red from fatigue and tears. “Only I get to choose when you die, got that bub?” Alfred whispered softly, giving him a tentative squeeze. Ivan carded bandaged fingers through puppy soft blonde hair, smiling. They remained that way for sometime, partially tangled.

Alfred had saved him. No one had ever gone so far out of their way to save him ever. His best non-friend in the whole world, since neither would admit to the title, had literally travelled fifteen time zones to rescue him. Ivan felt a burgeoning sense of relief, and something else. It was warm feeling he knew well but hadn't felt since he was very young. Ivan didn't have a friend. He had something much more powerful than that.

Beyond the long plane ride and a few video calls, Ivan saw very little of Alfred for two months. Putin was furious Ivan had been so thoroughly damaged in combat, refusing to let him leave the house for several weeks. Despite this unintentional show of affection from his infamously cold leader, Ivan itched to fight again. At this stage of his life, it was all he was built for. 

The ash blonde did eventually rejoin the front lines, determined to destroy China's stupid crusade for oil. One battle blurred into another as the traditional country boundaries barely budged. Whenever Russia gained Chinese land, North Korean terrorists would assist in pushing back. When ever Russian territory was lost, Ivan would simply reclaim it in a day. On two dicey events, American pilots showed up unexpectedly and bombed the Chinese senseless with cutting edge jets.

Ivan slammed his fist into the table, making it crack. It had been a year, and neither side had gained so much as a mile. Japan, America, and Russia had ended up banding together in that time. All of Europe was ignoring Ivan in his time of need, like usual. China had swept up the support of several former soviet states that despised Ivan completely. North Korea had long surrendered, bombed into submission by the United states of America... again.

This resulted in a ring of weak territories hostile to Russia, completely encompassing the massive region. Each target country was weak individually, but they were vast in number. It was a classic case of quantity versus quality. So far the fighting was mostly deadlock that held the global trading market hostage. No one was gaining in anything.

“Commander, you have visitors.” a young soldier informed, saluting Ivan as he entered the make shift field office. Ivan acknowledged this with a grunt. “I will meet them outside.” Ivan replied a moment later. It was a beautiful summer day, the splendour of it dragged down by the reality of war. Still, the sun was so warm.

Alfred, bedazzled in full military dress, dwarfed his plainly dressed Canadian twin. “Vanya! You big bastard! I have good news and bad news! Which do you want to hear first?” Alfred greeted loudly, ruining the regal formality of his initial appearance. “Hey.” Canada greeted, barely audible next to the boisterous American.


	25. Chapter 25

Ivan flushed a little, excited to see his dearest companion. Sweeping Alfred into an entirely unprofessional hug, the giant of a nation squeezed hard before letting go. “Oof! Glad to see you too!” Alfred chuckled, willing in the exchange. Canada watched silently, brows raised. “Bad news first.” Ivan finally replied, resuming his calm composure.

“Okay. Japan is out. He declared neutrality. Poor little guy ran out of steam I guess. That and Tokyo was bombed. It's a mess. The International headquarters for Nintendo was wrecked! I'm so sad! I don't even know when the next Pokemon game is going to come out now! How am I supposed to collect them all?” Alfred complained, going off track like usual. 

Canada cleared his throat, glaring at his brother. America looked confused a moment, then grinned. “Oh... good news! I brought cookies... and Mattie is being the best bro ever. He won't help with the fighting, but he was going to offer medical services or something. Also... I got permission to use nuclear bombs... if we absolutely had to.” The airy conversation went serious in a second, not suiting Alfred at all.

Truthfully, Ivan was having a hard time stopping his boss from using nuclear warfare. It was horrendously expensive and doubled global cancer rates. Ivan was finally getting his cancerous impulses under control. His famous chain smoking ways was now a pack of cigarettes daily. Before, if Russia was stressed, he'd burn through heaps of smokes.

Accepting the box of almond cookies, the Russian became lost in thought. The worst conclusion became the most clear. “Alik, walk with me. Follow if you must Matvey, but beware. You walk with monsters.” Ivan warned, as deadpan as ever. Alfred followed, being unusually mature. Canada, hesitated, then chased after to catch up. 

They walked to the edge of the military camp, only ten miles from the Chinese border. Fresh pits in the grassy landscape revealed recent battle. Gazing at the beautiful destruction, Ivan looked to his freckled companion. He would speak in English, if only to appease Alfred. “I am going to use the bomb, Alfred. I do not wish to, but... I have no choice.” Ivan said solemnly. “You always have a choice. The bomb... It is excessive.” Canada protested, quite brave today.

“I have to agree with Mattie here.” Alfred agreed. Ivan sighed, looking at the ground. “Ever since I became politically neutral, People have become less afraid of me. Most of Europe is beginning to like me again. Unfortunately my former states now see me as weak. They sap my strength everyday with their lesser battles. I will be eventually destroyed, if only for the oil deposits I own.” He explained, expression pained.

“We could fend them off, we could... I don't know... conquer a few little guys to set an example.” America offered, putting a reassuring hand on Ivan's shoulder. Appreciating the gesture, Ivan chuckled. “No Alik. As the USSR, I beat, starved, and tortured many. It did nothing to stop their will.” the ash blonde replied, comfortable enough with their unique bond to share such sensitive topics. Canada dragging along was less than welcome, but he was basically America's emotional baggage handler as it was.

“But... the bomb is so extreme! Japan was afraid to look at me for decades after I hit him with two” Alfred opposed, surprisingly conservative about nuclear use. 

Ivan shook his head ruefully, replying. “No. You don't understand. I am a landlocked nation with oil, uranium, coal, and steel. I need to be feared, or I will be destroyed by my neighbours. I don't have a military big enough to even fully defend myself. That is the situation I am in Alik. I do not have the luxury of two oceans to protect me. I don't have the luxury of friendship, or vacations. I do not have the luxury of being... myself. I need the bomb. Any bomb. I need to be feared.”

“But... it can't be that bad.” Alfred protested, stubborn as ever. “Fourteen. I am bordered with fourteen other countries across eleven time zones. If it's not China, it will be someone else.” Ivan argued, becoming irritated. Why did America have to be so dense?

Alfred looked despondent, then angry. “So that's it? You have to run off and bomb shit and stop being friends because of what... some need to be scary? That's fucking stupid. I reject it, and you can fuck off.” he snarled, arms crossed. Canada looked pensive, glancing at his younger sibling. Ivan giggled, delighted his companion was so concerned over their friendship. It made the northern nation feel so warm and giddy.

Switching to his native tongue, Russia leaned in and grabbed Alfred playfully. “No worries, Alik. You saved my life twice, and recovered my body once. I will always be thankful, and happy to see you. We are kin born of blood and battle, our bond strengthened in the fires of war.” Ivan assured with a soft half lidded gaze, affection blatantly obvious. He kissed Alfred on the cheek just once, a quick thing, then let go.

Alfred blushed madly, lost for words. “I... umm... okay.” the honey blonde stammered, caught off guard. “Now, if all is settled on that matter. Let us discuss drop sites in the tent. This heat is terrible in uniform.” Ivan cheered in English, clapping his hands together. “What? What was that?” Canada asked with furrowed brows. “It's... Everything is great. Let's go talk about... that.” Alfred murmured, looking slightly shocked. The scene was adorable to watch. Ivan distantly wondered how fried Alfred's brain would become from a real kiss. The ancient Russian's libido perked up vaguely at the idea, long neglected for decades.

“I don't want to be any part of this.” Canada objected, shoving his hands in his jean pockets. He headed off to the temporary airstrip, head held high. “You should come with me.” Ivan purred, tugging Alfred along by his sleeve. The urge to taste and conquer his companion burned fiercely in the Russian's mind, not fading at all. Normally he had much better control over such things as kissing and touching. Today was just random he supposed.

“Guess I can forgive you for using bombs. Man, I feel uncomfortable with picking the spots to use it...” Alfred admitted, his wits mostly returned. “Just... Please don't bomb Beijing. I know its a sound strategy, but neither side hasn't even lost a million yet. Twenty four million live there, it would be horrible.” the honey blonde continued sadly. Ivan disliked Alfred being so upset, lifting his face to match the Russian's purple gaze. Summer blue looked away, distraught.

There was little else to say about the heavy subject. They walked back slowly to the camp centre, side by side. “I have to go, but take care of yourself, okay?” Alfred said, his usual cheer and pomp returning. With a whine, Ivan trapped his American companion. “No, no, just a minute.” Russia protested, physically dragging Alfred inside the tent office.

Ivan locked in a real kiss, aching for touch. His sunflower's lips were so soft and perfect. Shivering from the sensation Ivan squeezed Alfred closely. “Take care of yourself, and eat healthy... and don't be afraid to visit.” Ivan whispered, desperation hurrying his touches. The second kiss was more forced and exploratory but still willing. Alfred groaned into it, blushing a beautiful shade of pink.

“The same goes for you. Don't... don't kill too many people while I'm gone... and if you get lonely, don't fucking talk to a stuffed cat. Call me instead. Maybe we could visit California and beach bum for a day...” Alfred replied after gasping from another kiss. Three wasn't enough. Ivan wanted a hundred kisses, he wanted everything. Feverish with the need to mate, Ivan pressed closer. He whimpered from frustration, his constrained cock trapped in tight fabric.

As suddenly as it began, the improvised make out session ended. Alfred held Ivan at arms length, looking pained. “I need to think, and I'm about to wreck my nice work pants. So... I'm going to go, okay?” he said, trying to convince himself more than Ivan.

Somewhat clouded by lust, Ivan strained against his captor. “If you must. I could always use help by the desk.” He offered in a husky voice. Preferably, he needed to bend Alfred over the desk. Fucking him senseless, exploring and tasting. The thought was a dominating one. “Not today, big guy.” Alfred dismissed, gone as fast as he arrived. Once again alone, Ivan was now stuck with a moral dilemma and a raging erection. At least one of these things was easy to resolve.


	26. Chapter 26

A next generation nuclear bomb had been dropped north of Beijing. Convincing Russian military to avoid the famous city had been a tough task. Still the on going fatalities were sickening. A farming region and residential area was hit instead. 20,000 people had died instantly, vaporized where they stood. 180,000 died several hours after the impact due to complications

Bubbling skin hung red and inflamed off the bones of wandering Chinese women. Children were in so much agony they were killing themselves. Their fragile burnt bodies littered the flattened streets. The shock wave was powerful enough to topple several apartment buildings, crushing thousands. Gas and electrical lines burst, erupting fifty foot fires across the once beautiful farmlands. Every animal, insect, and plant was dead or dying. The video footage being taken from the devastated region was enough to make Ivan vomit.

The Russian government had asked only once for Chinese troops to withdraw from the fatherland, or there would be dire consequences. China's communist leader laughed, alongside the nation himself. “You are politically neutral. You are a toothless old tiger, afraid to bare dull claws.” China had taunted from across the polished meeting table, sneering maliciously. Ivan looked at his foolish opponent, heart laden with crushing sorrow.

“I am sorry for what my people are about to do to you.” Ivan had apologized genuinely. He meant every syllable. Even now, five days after the drop, he was too upset to return to the battle front. Even Russia's heart of supposed stone was broken by the sight of mutilated Chinese citizens crawling on bloody limbs, crying for help.

The ash blonde had been screening his calls for days. Every nation, even several African ones Ivan generally ignored, called to verbally assault him. These messages ranged from “How could you do this?” to “You are a monster!” The remaining death threats were actually normal occurrences, mostly from angry Baltic states.

In the dark of his empty home, Ivan drank vodka straight from the bottle. He cradled the cool glass in his arms, staring at his dead fireplace. Thankfully, his boss didn't expect the distraught nation to do anything. Chinese troops were beginning to retreat, as expected. Ivan's phone went off for the tenth time today, snapping him out of his daze. Glancing at the number, Ivan decided to answer.

“Alfred.” he answered simply. “Ivan, talk to me.” the clear voice of America responded. “My intelligence has been compromised for some time. I will not be discussing anything here.” Ivan dismissed quickly, taking a drag of his cigarette. “Dude, I get that... I really do. Just... Let me come visit or something.” his companion offered. As tempting as the idea was, Ivan didn't deserve it. 

The ancient Russian wanted to scream, or at least hang up. He resisted, attempting to be mature about things. “Leave me alone.” Ivan hissed, feeling sorry for himself. “Too late.” was all he heard before the line went dead. Fuck. Another nuisance to deal with.

After another week, Ivan's bloodthirsty government grew restless. China surrendered an hour after another bomb was dropped on a massive farming community. Ivan refused to see the images or the videos this time, his chain smoking back full force. He didn't need to see melting flesh every day of the week after all. Bitter former soviets to the east and south disbanded, wise enough, or possibly terrified enough, to know when a cause was a lost one. The war was over, at a steep cost.

Alfred's people wouldn't let him travel to Russia. For once, Ivan was relieved to be alone. He didn't want his only comrade in the whole world to see him like this. Two days after the paper work for China's surrender was processed, Ivan was ordered to go to the world meeting. Cleaning up after drinking so many days in a row was difficult, but not impossible. After all, there was no liquid on earth poisonous or alcoholic enough to kill himself. He'd checked many times over the centuries.

This world meeting was going to be terrible. Ivan put no real effort into his state of dress. Sure everything was clean and relatively wrinkle free, but that was it. People didn't generally notice, but he normally matched the subtle shades of colour in his clothes. A huge fan of psychology, Ivan did this to manipulate the impressions he gave. Everyone could fear, respect, or adore him before he even spoke a word.

The meeting was in Warsaw, Poland, only a two hour flight. Ivan stared out the window listlessly, drowning in his own depression. The sensation was a familiar one, a cold shadow he never shed over the years. Since the meeting sites were generally the same twenty places in the world, the route to the conference hall was memorized. Ivan couldn't be bothered to speak a single word of the disgusting polish language, choosing to show an address on paper to the taxi driver.


	27. Chapter 27

Early for the meeting, Ivan briefly met eyes with the ever punctual England, China, and Germany. While china looked away quickly in fear, the other two clearly judged him silently. There really wasn't an alcohol strong enough for this type of business. Both Italy twin alternated between napping and playing with their phones as the dry meeting began. Over fifty nations were in attendance, even the incredibly poor fragments of former Yugoslavia. Not a single chair was empty for once.

Alfred was formal instead of wearing his usual superhero or American flag shirt with jeans. Ivan almost lamented the change, wishing for some sense of normalcy. America waved from across the table, brightly smiling. Ivan returned the measure weakly, then gave up and resumed frowning. Alfred looked puzzled, then turned his attention to Germany at the head of the table.

“Velcome all. I am pleased by today's attendance. The first speaker is –” Ivan interrupted the uninspiring introduction, standing as he spoke. “I will be speaking first. I have matters to discuss before I am burnt at the stake.” The Russian could feel dozens of eyes measuring his every movement, but chose to not acknowledge them.

“Sixteen of the nations in this room decided to destroy me. Your efforts failed. I acknowledge that I destroyed many cultures as the USSR, but as I have reminded everyone many times... I am no longer a communist, a soviet, or wish to unify the world any longer. I have been a neutral agent for many years. I have done nothing to China to instigate this pathetic war, and will defend myself again if provoked.” Ivan was somewhat passionate in his speech, trying harder than usual. After repeating the practised lines in Russian and French, he sat and waited for the parade of accusations to begin.

Nation after nation stood and ridiculed Russia's actions. Ivan barely listened, smoking one cigarette after another as he stared at the wall. Despite Germany requesting he stop, Ivan would simply light another and dwell on his internal ocean of self hatred. Two hours crawled by in this tedious manner, with only one speaker left.

Alfred stood and cleared his throat. Ivan felt a paper ball bounce off his head, jerking to see who delivered the blow. The American grinned, whispering “Welcome back to the show, bud.” Ivan smirked sheepishly, surprised he had drifted off while in a room so full of enemies. He was losing his touch after all.

America had always been a dynamic speaker, unable to stand still or stick to one volume. It made him as engaging as he was pig headed. He was already moving around as he began. “I approve of what Russia did. It's horrible and a ton of people got melted by radiation, but it did the job didn't it? None of you are ever going to fuck with him again, right? China pushed him to this by being a greedy bastard, by going after Siberian oil. What? Is all your coal not good enough, China? Didn't want to pay your gas bill bub? Well guess what, everyone has to pay their fucking bills! I'm still paying for mine!” Alfred ranted, amazingly still on topic. He usually switched to random nonsense after thirty seconds.

Now beside China, Alfred mashed the scared Asian's face into the table. “I don't care if it's Germany, or Israel, or Russia, or whoever. They are my friends. Fuck with my friends or family, and I will destroy you until you are nothing but irradiated dust! You fuckin' got that?” The red faced American growled. China nodded timidly as best he could while restrained. Releasing his hostage, Alfred rubbed his temples and sat in his chair. “Ugh. My bad. Lost my temper people.” he joked lightly, switching gears instantly. No one laughed.

Ivan had not seen Alfred flex his military rage so openly since the cold war. It was damn near erotic. The proud Russian was shamelessly drawn to power since he could remember, his true weakness. The meeting room was blanketed by stunned silence. Ivan hid a faint blush beneath his scarf, joy smouldering inside like a small candle. Alfred did care about him! This was surely another display of his affections, if accidental.


	28. Chapter 28

With no crimes left to accuse Russia of, the other nations cleared out of the room quickly at the end of the meeting. Only a few stragglers and Germany were left behind. Northern Italy looked nervous as America chatted to the ever serious German. “Mister America, you will not be bombing anyone will you?” the bubbly Italian asked suddenly.

“God no. You're too cute.” Alfred assured quickly, patting the shorter Italian on the shoulder. “Good. Ludwig was saying the same thing the other day when we were –” “That is not a professional topic for this place, Feliciano.” Germany cut off his happy cohort awkwardly. Not that Ivan cared. The odd pair had been figuratively married since WW2, and anyone with a brain knew it.

Out of cigarettes, Ivan started packing up his own things. The initial purpose of the meeting, arranging reparations of one kind or another, had failed completely. Neither Russia or China were willing to pay a single coin for anything outside of their own borders. No one was surprised by this result.

“Hey. It's not illegal to smile.” Alfred teased sitting across the table. Ivan ignored him, methodically putting papers and pens away. “Hey. Hey! Let's do something. I haven't seen you for like... a month.” the younger nation pestered stubbornly. Russia looked up, smirked and resumed his task. Alfred huffed, using his arms as cushions on the table. Laying his head down, brilliant blue eyes studied Ivan.

Suitcase finally locked shut, Ivan stood. The case was yanked away quickly. “Give that back. I'm not in the mood for nonsense.” Russia snapped. “Come and get it! Or are you too slow?” Alfred teased, waving the case about like it was sports equipment instead of national security papers. Ivan wasn't too slow. He was fast, and agile, and incredibly clever. No had the right to accuse him of less than royalty and perfection.

“Return the suit case.” Ivan threatened, narrowing his eyes dangerously. Alfred laughed, not taking the situation seriously. “Gotta catch me first!” he taunted, running out of the room. Ivan chased him through the building, not caring who he knocked over or tripped. This was Poland after all, hardly even a country to the powerful Russian. 

Out of the building, the pair bolted across a busy cross walk. Crashing through a cafe, tables and people were shoved aside mercilessly. Weaving alleyways, Ivan wanted to choke his prey. The honey blonde was cornered, with only a fire escape ladder several feet above him. Confident in his victory, Russia approached with a maniacal grin. “There is nowhere to run, little rabbit.” he teased, drawing closer. Alfred eyed the ladder above him, smirking. There was no way America could ever make the jump. The younger nation lunged, briefcase handle held in his teeth.

Wow. He made the jump after all. Ivan stood there dumbly, genuinely impressed. As Alfred scrambled up the old fire escape ladder, Ivan searched frantically to something to climb on. The Russian president would be completely infuriated if those papers were lost. There was an half full dumpster, but the lid was missing. No thanks. A small car was parked by the alley exit. It looked more than sturdy. Racing over to the vehicle, Ivan looked both ways down the sleepy residential street. No one was around. Rubbing gloved hands together, Ivan took a deep breath and started dragging the powder blue car.

Were he stronger, he would lift the entire thing over his head. He did such amazing feats of strength with impunity in his youth. These days, he took better care of his body. Another back injury would be terrible. Dragging the car would have to suffice.

Finally climbing the ladder from the top of the car, Ivan slipped onto the flat gravel roof. “Give me back my suitcase.” Ivan ordered, panting ruining his intimidating image. Alfred was just laying a few feet away, looking quite winded himself. Pouncing on the American, Ivan pinned him down by the wrists. “You gonna torture me?” Alfred sneered, not resisting much. “Yes, in the worst way.” the ash blond threatened gravely, peeling off dirty leather gloves.

“You wouldn't! You bastard! Don't you – Ohmigod! Noooo!” Alfred squealed as he was tickled without remorse. Ivan grinned and attacked vulnerable ribs, making the tanned nation convulse with laughter. “Please! I'm going to piss myself!” Alfred giggled, trying to roll away. The larger Russian parked himself on one of Alfred's legs, sitting on it with full weight. The assault ended, with the pair just staring at each other flushed and smiling. The crushing depression from earlier had vanished, replaced by impulsive joy.

Ivan lay on top and licked Alfred's cheek, snuggled close. The need for touch was so addictive lately. “Eww! I'm not candy!” Alfred whined, wiping his face with his formal blazer sleeve. Ivan hummed and made himself comfortable against his companion's shoulder. A strong heart beat could be heard, a calm rhythm between them. They lay in comfortable silence, watching the sun low in the sky. Streaks of pastel colour were beginning to appear, announcing the end of the day.

“Thank you for defending my honour, Alik.” Ivan murmured, content. Alfred grunted, adjusting the arm the was resting his head on. “You saved my life, I wish to repay you.” Ivan continued, heart fluttering strangely. “It's... It's okay. You don't have to.” Alfred insisted with a slight stammer. Ignoring this, Russia propped himself up on his elbows. Crawling forward slightly, he craned over that adorable freckled face. After a second of hesitation, Ivan kissed him. 

Lips clashed as Ivan tried to consume the man beneath him. Alfred gave into the notions quickly, pulling Ivan closer by the shoulders. For a moment of blissful eternity, they were united in writhing lust. Breaking the kiss, Ivan gasped for air. His body was hot and aching, now parked between America's legs. Over a century of moral discipline melted away as Ivan pressed his lower half against Alfred eagerly. The friction felt great on his straining cock, even through binding fabric. The handsome blond beneath gave a breathy sigh, wrapping strong legs around Ivan. Seeing Alfred's own eager erection pressing against tight slacks made the Russian shiver from excitement.

Intent on ravishing Alfred right here, Ivan's hands wandered to the ornate belt keeping those damn pants on. America's warm hands stopped him in a steel grip. “Vanya, stop.” Alfred grunted, looking pained. Reluctantly, Russia obeyed while rutting his hips slightly. “Let me show you my appreciation.” Ivan purred, flirting shamelessly with amorous violet eyes.

“I get that. I really do. But we don't have condoms, or lube, and we're kinda on the roof of a building.” America pointed out. Ivan leaned back on his knees, scowling. The fool did make sense. Ivan's carnal need to fuck Alfred into the ground had taken over it seemed. Still, something had to be done about the burgeoning issue between his legs. “Very well. Do you have a hotel room?” Ivan asked while massaging Alfred's endowment.

The younger nation pushed into the touch, biting his lip. “It's just... It's been a long time. I don't... I'm not totally comfortable, man. I mean... oh god... You'll probably rip me in half.” Alfred panted as he was teased with soft touches. “I would not do such a thing. I care about you.” Ivan assured, already loosening the belt. Recapturing those soft pink lips, he resumed distracting America.

Desperate for some kind of relief, Ivan freed his own erection first. The air was cold on the flushed member but he didn't care, he needed this. Alfred's own saluting cock sprung free of loosened slacks, gripped immediately by Ivan's saliva slicked hand. Still propped above Alfred awkwardly, Ivan had to rest on the side to give his remaining arm a break. “Touch me.” Ivan ground out, slowly stroking with his hand. Alfred hissed vehement prayers as he was serviced, obeying instantly. After a moment of confusion, he too slicked his dry palm with a quick spit.

They were soon pressed together on their sides, shielding each other from the strong wind on the roof. Whimpers and sighs were lost to the alternating breeze as they rutted in primal fashion against heated grip. Masturbation was exponentially better when performed by another, it seemed. Shining pearls of precum occasionally dribbled free, lacing their fingers. Ivan shuddered and slid closer still, completely trapping Alfred with a leg. This also led to a new angle that he could thrust into that glorious semi-fisted grip. 

As heat built and prickled, Ivan felt himself melting inside. He was caught by surprise as Alfred's frenetic motions stopped suddenly. The younger nation arched, crying out loudly as he came. The look of pure bliss on that beautiful caramel face was perfect. Some cum splashed on Ivan's nice coat, but he didn't care anymore. The smell of sex, combined with renewed lubrication via Alfred's own spilled seed, pushed the lustful Russian into overdrive.

Thrusting into rapid strokes, Ivan was locked in frenzied synchronicity with his companion. It all became pleasurably unbearable. “Alfred!” Ivan growled as he came, falling into sweet oblivion. Unlike Alfred, Ivan's orgasm was aimed dead on. Two large splashes of white now graced the America's expensive outer wear. Completely spent, Ivan lazily peeled off his mostly clean coat and draped it around their entwined forms. They lay there cuddled closely for a while, watching the sun set behind jagged buildings.

“I smell like gravel and porn.” Alfred grumbled, eventually forcing himself to move. Ivan eagerly licked the younger nation's member clean, tucking it back in warm slacks. The American seed tasted earthy and bitter, yet not offensive in the least. Admittedly Ivan had been rough with the fly of the pants earlier, some zipper teeth warped from tugging. Alfred groaned at the gentle treatment, eyes fluttering shut. After a moment, the American understood Ivan's expectant gaze and returned the favour.

The sensation of Ivan's flaccid cock being completely swallowed by wet American lips was a rare treasure. Were Ivan not already finished, he would definitely be fucking that tantalizing face. Tucking Ivan in, the fly and belt were refastened with deliberate care. “Mmm. I think I will play with you more often.” Ivan purred, a boneless mass of contentment. Alfred huffed a silent laugh, laying down again. “You think so huh?” he replied, all smiles.


	29. Chapter 29

Work tore them apart like it always had. Ivan had to return to the fatherland. Alfred was staying another night in this hellish shit hole of a country. The Russian couldn't imagine any reason as to why, given that Poland was a horrible nation to interact with.

Even so, The duo managed to spent another hour together before they were separated by fate. They didn't talk about their feelings, not wanting to ruin the mood. Ivan simply didn't acknowledge these things often. Alfred had a horrendous attention span, likely to babble on about anime robots in the middle of a love confession. No. Intimate silence was best as they lay together in the hotel, watching a terrible TV show.

It would be months before Ivan was likely to see his new lover again. He missed when Kozlov was the American president. During both four year terms, the clever human had laid a strong foundation for future relations with Russian officials. Even NASA and the Roscosmos space agency were collaborating with each other now, if cautiously. More importantly, the friendly president had let Ivan come visit America whenever he wanted without extensive security checks. Not once in those blessed eight years was Ivan ever truly depressed or alone.

The ash blonde was as rewarding as he could be vengeful. He lavished wonderful gifts upon the former president on new years eve. He gave Kozlov's aged parents a lovely Dascha in the Volga region, along with restored full citizenship. The quaint cottage had a view of a private lake normally reserved for government upper crust and billionaires. For such fragile creatures, the ancient couple had accomplished everything Ivan imprinted upon them. He couldn't be more proud.

America's newest president was less than eager about engaging in a friendly manner with Vladimir Putin and his goons. Ivan could understand why. The old leader was nearly eighty seven with failing health. On several occasions, Ivan personally escorted the hot blooded elder from meeting after losing his cool. Occasionally the strong willed human would forget things or simply grew too tired to finish tasks.

Ivan grew much closer to to his leader in these moments, personally tending to his medications and time schedule. Putin's two daughters, along with their offspring, finally convinced the occasionally foolish human to begin training a replacement candidate. Ivan kept on healthy terms with the entire family, keeping tabs on them. He always had their interests at heart, even if both daughters were unnerved by his immortal existence. It would never be like the Romanov days, when the royals openly accepted Ivan's nature and welcomed him into their hearts. Still, something was better than nothing. They largely pretended Ivan was Vladimir's military advisor, addressing him as such. It was a suiting title after all.

The end came much sooner than the doctors predicted. Ivan's glorious yet modest leader passed away a year after the war had ended, dying of medical complications in his sleep. The entire country was plunged into uncertainty as the entire world held it's breath. Ivan didn't know how to cope with the loss, isolating himself after the ostentatious funeral.

Darkness. It was all Ivan could understand or see at this moment. He lay in bed, clutching an empty vodka bottle. He wasn't sure how many days had passed since the sombre funeral and didn't care. He should probably bathe, or eat. Somehow, he seemed too sapped of strength to try either task. There was men banging on his barricaded bedroom door again. Ivan ignored it, reaching for another vodka bottle.

After sleeping for a long time, he woke to the shattering of wood. Belarus was darkly silhouetted in the wrecked door frame, clearly wielding a heavy wood cutting axe. The former door was broken to pieces around her. “Big brother! You must eat and take care of yourself!” she scolded in her sweet yet maniacal fashion. How alike they were at times, he mused internally. Ivan said nothing, staring sadly with glassy wet eyes. When he didn't scream in fear and try to flee, Belarus frowned slightly in concern. She crept up to the edge of the bed, watching him unblinkingly. Ivan didn't react.

“Big brother?” she asked softly, prodding his face. “I made you peach pie with extra love. Do you wish to receive it?” she continued. Ivan grunted and turned the other way, a fresh wave of tears staining his cheeks. She crawled onto the mattress, squeezing his shoulder too hard. Her sharply manicured nails dug into his soiled clothes and skin. It was a poor attempt at consolation, but Ivan didn't expect any better. He'd never taught her such things, because he was equally terrible with these matters.

“If you insist, dearest. I will always love you.” She crooned softly, rubbing somewhat inappropriately against his blanketed form. She left, only to return with a pie and fork. Rolling Ivan over with immense difficulty, she laid him on his back. Propping his head on her lap, Ivan could feel the many knife sheathes and pistol holsters beneath her long purple skirt. Belarus was dangerously obsessive, but she was an excellent student. Ivan bristled with weapons under regular circumstances as well.

Forcefully fed room temperature dessert, Ivan couldn't stop heavy tears from falling. The invasive horror of this moment only seemed to compound his grief. Belarus meant well, and he was starving. This was still the wrong way to go about comforting others. Ivan didn't really know what the right way was though. “As soon as you give up your stupid love affair with the American, I will be here to care for you. I can bake you pies, and give you little kisses. Mine. Mine. All mine forever.” She ranted, rather self absorbed. Ivan was once identical in behaviour, and still had his moments.

Resigning himself to peach pie hell, Ivan ate everything that was fed to him. She would probably force him to chew and swallow if he didn't do so accordingly. After the odd ritual, she curled up like a cat, resting her head on his chest. Belarus soon started napping while clutching a dagger, leaving Ivan to his grey fog of thoughts. Unable to resolve anything, he drained the rest of his piss warm vodka and fell asleep.


	30. Chapter 30

It was two weeks since Putin had died, and Ivan had yet to leave the house. After firing off a semi-automated rifle at the front door, government lackeys were staying a healthy distance from him. There was little food left, and not a drop of vodka anywhere. Having shot the TV, then stabbing it repeatedly, there was no entertainment left. Ivan took to staring out the window at the swirling winter drifts. He tried bathing at some point but gave up and tried to kill himself in the shower with a pistol. There was still dried blood on the ceiling.

More banging at the front door. Ivan grumbled, shifting the live rifle in his grip. The door was kicked open as he took aim. An overly dressed Alfred ambled in, his many layers frosted with powdery snow. “Oh man, your weather sucks.” the American announced loudly, closing it. Partially broken from Belarus's visit, it creaked open. Before the poor thing was ripped off it's hinges, Ivan intervened. Lowering his rifle, he propped the door shut with a chair.

“Alik, why are you here?” Ivan asked lowly, thankful he had run out of tears hours ago. “Well hot lips, I came by to cheer you up! You always get so attached to your leaders, and I figured I'd bring my patented break-up-cheer-up care package.” Alfred explained, so proud of himself. “I was not dumped you stupid pig. My leader... died.” Ivan protested, visually crumpling towards the end. “They basically feel the same, bro. It's why I limit mine to two terms. I'd be fucking wreck if I got attached to everyone of them.” Alfred dismissed with a wave of his hand. Dropping a black plastic bag on the kitchen table, he started peeling his multitude of winter clothes off.

Ivan examined the contents of the bag after putting his gun safety on. There was ice cream, cookies, several photographs of dead American presidents, and new boxes of tissues. The undeniable scent of marijuana came from a sealed container, while ten packs of cigarettes from a Russian corner store still had the receipt with them. Several movies ranging from ultra violent to sappy were bundled together.

“Normally you have like... bathtubs of vodka in your house, so I didn't bring any booze, but I know we'll have a good time.” Alfred continued talking forever as he loaded the ice cream into the empty freezer. “Vodka is all gone.” Ivan whispered mournfully. The freckled American looked at him, surprised, then plastered another smile on. “No problemo dude. We'll get you fixed up, then we can get more at the store together.” Ivan groaned at hearing this, glancing at his rifle. Why couldn't he die like a normal human being?

Leaning in, Alfred planted a kiss on his cheek. “Let's get you cleaned up stinky.” he cooed, dragging Ivan upstairs. When the Russian refused to co-operate, he was scooped up bridal style and carried along. That was how he ended up in a bubble bath against his will as Alfred scrubbed his hair.

How could Ivan had sunk to depths this low? If his true leader was still alive, the stern figure would be completely disappointed in him. Ivan should be ashamed of himself, perhaps try killing himself again. It was the only honourable thing left to do after all. Fresh salty tears began to spill forth, streaking his pale face. “Oh no. Oh no. Please don't start cryin' again.” Alfred cursed under his breath, pausing his motions. He looked a bit panicked, then took a breath. 

Pulled into a hug from the side of the tub, Ivan gave up instantly. Friendly physical contact had always been something he was starved of in the past. With Alfred's blatant affections, the gentle touches were also Ivan's greatest weakness. They had yet to have real sex due to the demanding natures of their lives, but the ash blonde already knew the act would unravel him. Sobbing into the touch, Ivan needed more like a drug.

Dragging a half dressed Alfred into the tub, the strong Russian buried his face in the crook of that tanned neck. “H-h-he's g-g-gone, and I don't know w-w-what to do!” Ivan stuttered, squeezing tightly. “There there big guy. Let it all out.” Alfred soothed, hugging back. With that simple order, Ivan's control dissolved. Days of strangled silence converted to what felt like an endless ocean of tears. Giving up on escape, Alfred busied himself with scrubbing Ivan's limp greasy hair.

The water grew cold, Ivan somewhat pruned after. As he hauled himself out of the tub, he was handed a fluffy yellow towel. “Feel any better yet?” Alfred asked. “No.” Ivan snapped, still miserable. Strangely, he did feel less stressed. Perhaps a good cry was allowed once every century or so. “Let's get you dressed, then we can get more food to eat. I'm totally starving.” the American continued, ignoring the depressed agitation.


	31. Chapter 31

Ivan was locked in indecision, standing before his dresser. He also had a closet full of work suits and winter coats. “Ya know, the longer you stand there, the longer I get to admire your ass.” Alfred remarked as he lounged on the king size bed. Blushing, Ivan clutched the yellow towel around himself tighter. “It's like sexy marble.” the younger nation commented, making Ivan choke up. He had not been fully naked in front of another person for centuries, so the bizarre compliments put him on edge.

“Alik, stop staring at my body.” Ivan hissed, turning away. “I'd stop if you got dressed already.” the American retorted, sounding bored. “I will... I just... don't know what to wear.” Ivan replied softly. “It's easy you big suck. You just pick whatever.” his companion drawled, now hanging his head upside down off the mattress edge.

“You can't just do that. There's secret agendas and psychology at play. Certain shades give impressions. You have to know what's scheduled and plan around them. When... he... was alive, I always knew what I would be wearing days in advance.” Ivan explained, browsing his large clothing collection with uncertainty. America snorted, then jeered “He fucking told you what to wear? That's complete bullshit!”

Ivan shot a look of utter disdain to the foul mouthed blonde, answering “I do not insult how you function.” “Omigod, you're such a liar. We insult each other all the time.” Alfred argued, rolling off the bed. He strolled over, opening a drawer at random. Pointing to a perfectly folded shirt, he asked “How about this one?” Ivan shook his head. Alfred pulled it out anyway, squealing in delight. “You kept the shirt from Disney land! This must be from the 1950's! You are such a softie! Now you have to wear it!”

As Alfred unfurled the shirt, Ivan tried to snatch it away from him unsuccessfully. The ancient impulse purchase revealed it's true purpose. It had many holes and colourful oil paint smears. Alfred looked dumbfounded, then looked at Ivan brightly. “You... paint?” he asked curiously. “No.” Ivan lied, social anxiety replacing drowning depression. “You totally do! I bet you have a painters apron thingy like Italy... and omigod you totally have one.” Alfred announced like it was the most amazing thing to ever exist. The loud fool just had to open this dresser drawer.

Ivan rolled his eyes, closing the drawer before Alfred dragged anything else out. Opening up another drawer, he looked over his comprehensive long sleeved shirt collection. “Now you really have to get dressed, because I gotta find this art you made.” the determined nation added excitedly. Ivan fretted over the colours and textures, gripping his yellow towel to his body nervously. The Russian utterly despised not knowing what to do.

“I'm starting to think you like wearing nothing but a towel. God, just pick something.” Alfred nagged. “I need to know what we're doing first!” Ivan fumed, frustrated. “I dunno.” his companion offered with a casual shrug. “How can you not know what we are doing? You are the one arranging this outing!” Ivan exclaimed, squirming with the need to smack Alfred. “A simple trip for drugs and booze could turn into an adventure, then there's like a big monster attacking the city. I'm all whoosh, and you could have like ice powers or something.” his visitor rambled, entirely distracted.

The Russian glared at him with a dead expression. The American idiot wasn't even worth slapping anymore, his brain small enough to rattle around in his skull. “Just wear something that makes you happy.” the freckled blonde suggested naively. The image of a nude Alfred beneath, legs wrapped around Ivan's thrusting hips, instantly jumped to mind. Ivan blushed hotly, grabbing a fluffy moss green shirt with baggy long sleeves. He had been forbidden from wearing it decades ago due to it's unprofessional appearance. It was so pleasant to the touch though.

Left alone to change, Ivan looked at his half hard southern region. “Now of all times! You are greatly inconvenient.” He scolded, to little effect. After several minutes of willing his problem away, the tall nation finally dressed and brushed his teeth. He needed a shave too, but it wasn't urgent.

The afternoon was a dizzying swirl of activities around Moscow. They moved around so much, Ivan hardly had time to brood or burst into tears. When dinner time rolled around, he was honestly tired. Today had been marginally better than yesterday, the ash blonde had to admit. Curling up on the living room sofa, Ivan welcomed being home at last. Alfred had dragged him to a dozen stores, mostly for food. The TV and smashed up media player were also replaced. With a crate of chilled vodka and enough food for a small army, the American was chipper as ever.

“Time for phase two of operation Cheer-Up-Grumpy-Russia! Are you ready for the best movies ever made?” Alfred heralded, a tube of already opened cookie dough in his hands. Ivan groaned, looking away in feigned exasperation. “No. Leave me alone to grieve.” “No time for tears Vanya. Now... Pride and Prejudice or Sleepy Hollow?” Alfred responded cheerfully, plopping next to him on the sofa. 

This was going to be a long night.


	32. Chapter 32

Despite being annoyingly happy, Alfred's visit was quite effective. Ivan was mostly functioning and no longer trying to die after three movies and some excellent marijuana. The only drawback was Ivan had to urge to laugh or cry at the slightest gesture. Accepting the risks, Ivan kept the remaining gifted drugs and stored them in a safe place

After sharing a much cleaner bed in a guest bedroom, Alfred had to run off at his boss's orders. It was entertainment watching the tan blonde scramble into clean clothes while wet out of the shower. Ivan said nothing, consumed by lust as he watched the silly act. Someday they would have enough time alone, then Alfred's cute bottom was doomed.

Dead cold winter set in for the country, lulling everything into a sleepy series of boring chores. It took Ivan's overwhelmed government the longest time to arrange a legitimate election. They had not expected Putin to die so suddenly, since the small squad of doctors assigned to him had promised at least five more months.

The result was a majority party with no true candidates, still somehow in charge. The vice president that had stepped in was just an over paid puppet, and everyone knew it. As the election date drew closer, new political parties starting popping up everywhere. Ivan was actually starting to feel overwhelmed, knowing there was over a dozen largely unknown people vying to control him. Some were so unremarkable, they didn't even show up on top secret search engines.

Feeling mostly stable, Ivan was finally dealing with his grief and loss. When he wasn't burying himself in work, he was trying to remain positive. Well, as positive as a thousand year old pessimist could be anyway. Ivan was examining several political party flyers when his cell phone went off. “Speaking.” he answered simply.

“Hey! You never answered my texts.” Alfred's voice greeted bluntly. “I do not text. You know this.” Ivan replied flatly. “What about video calls?” the younger nation persisted. The idea was actually very appealing, yet... “I do not know how to do such things.” Ivan admitted shyly. He was often behind on technology in this fashion.

“Oh man! It's easy! I'll text you the instructions. All you have to do is read them. Can you even read, man?” the cocky American teased, probably not meaning it. “I wonder the same of you, little sunflower.” Ivan replied in a sickly sweet tone. “Aww... thanks, I think? Anyway, I'm hanging up then I'm sending you instructions.” Alfred promised, doing just that.

Ivan felt more competent than usual when it only took a few minutes to set up video chat capabilities on his laptop computer. Back on the phone with Alfred, the process was almost complete. “Okay so... see that little green icon?” Alfred continued. “Yes.” Ivan confirmed. “Click it.” his companion ordered. Ivan obeyed, a full screen moving picture of a shirtless Alfred lounging on the couch, the laptop presumably on his lap.

“See me waving?” Alfred asked, the picture doing just that. “Yes.” Ivan muttered, drinking the sight of a shirtless Alfred. “Stop drooling and turn on the audio so I don't kill my phone charge.” Alfred added, before hanging up. Soon a voice rang mostly clear from Ivan's computer, in perfect sync with the video feed. “Can you hear me?” Alfred asked. The computer being moved on the other end to briefly reveal the edge of some boxers, or possibly swimming trunks.

“Yes. This technology is wonderful.” Ivan agreed heartily. Perhaps Alfred wanted to tease him from afar with that toned body. “Can you stop looking at me like I'm a cinnamon roll? I have a super serious thing I need to show you.” Alfred grumbled, looking away for a moment. “You are much more fun to eat than a mere pastry.” Ivan flirted bluntly, passions running close to the surface. “God you're a horny bastard today. Makin' this difficult.” the mostly naked blonde coughed, blushing slightly.

The computer was shifted back to Alfred's lap, a cardboard box beside him. “So I just got back from the pool, and I saw the cutest little thing in the whole world. Some bastard just left it to die in a ditch.” the American explained, removing a white ball of fluff from the box. It wasn't a ball of fluff. It was... absolutely adorable. The cutest kitten Ivan had ever seen.

As the tiny creature sat in Alfred's lap, it let out a tiny heart breaking mew. “Oh... little kottonok, moya koshka. You are so precious.” Ivan gushed in a mash of English and Russian, his repressed sexual desires instantly forgotten. “So... you want it then?” Alfred asked with a cocky smirk. “Hurt a single hair on my new kitten and I'll rip your skin off.” Ivan snarled, slipping into mother bear mode. “Okay, got it. When you coming to get it? Or are we air mailing this?” Alfred chuckled, as if expecting this reaction.

Ivan paused, pondering the same thing. His airports tended to be rather rough with packaging. “I will pick the kitty up myself in a few days. I will... see how my credit card is doing first, yes?” Ivan offered weakly, desperate to rescue the fluff ball from clumsy American care. His bank account had taken quite a wallop due to budget reform lately.

“Oooh. You're poor again. How about we go dutch on the tickets then? Then I can see you longer than five hours without some government dip shit calling you. Maybe we could go to the aquarium again!” Alfred replied eagerly, cluing in. Maybe I could pin you to a mattress, Ivan thought distantly. The deviant sexual idea evaporated upon sighting that innocent little kitten.

“So... what do cats eat again?” Alfred inquired well petting the precious creature. Ivan covered his face with a palm, sighing “Meat, Alik. Cats eat meat.” Lost in thought, the freckled blond snapped back to the present. “Taco meat? Or cow? There's like six kinds of meat.” he asked, completely oblivious to his own stupidity. Ivan needed to get there immediately, before the achingly cute fluff ball was killed by Alfred's ignorance.


	33. Chapter 33

Convincing his dim boss that getting this kitten was essential to national security was easy. The very next morning, Ivan was flying to the USA in first class, alongside millionaires and CEOs. As a well dressed stewardess brought Ivan tea, the ash blonde nation contemplated what to do when he arrived. Obviously, he would tend to the cat first. A name had yet to come to him in the night. He had three days in the USA before his return was required. The manipulative Russian could probably get away with more, but he didn't want to ruin his current free ride.

Hopefully Ivan could finally get laid, but the possibility was slim. Every time Ivan flirted or suggested such a thing, Alfred shied away or hid behind work. It was no matter, The ancient Russian had time on his side. Sooner or later, Alfred would reveal whatever burdensome secret was blocking their unification.

As much as Ivan still ached for the direction and stability provided by his fallen boss, he enjoyed his current free form existence. He almost felt human. This was the first time he ever wore a casual cotton t-shirt while out on business. It wasn't even an approved colour, bright red with a black silk screen print of the devil on it. His beloved white scarf was retired for the day, being cleaned by the best professionals he could find. Paired with black jeans, Ivan was feeling oh so modern right now.

After landing, Ivan stretched and hailed a cab. On the ride to Alfred's house, Ivan nervously played with his grey and black replacement scarf. Would his new kitty like him? When the taxi driver looked at him oddly, the Russian shot a brief glare of death at the man. The stranger's curiosity wilted as he paled, eyes once again glued to the road.

Walking up to the front door of the patriotic white colonial, Ivan could hear people inside, laughing and talking loudly. Oh, Alfred had guests. Perhaps now was a bad time to visit. Knowing Ivan carried a social stigma more powerful than the plague, he hesitated to knock on the door. Before he could flee the scene, the entrance swung wide open. Alfred wore a bright shirt with 'Dallas Cowboys' emblazoned across the front.

“See? I told you, my stalker senses are totally spot on!” Alfred called over his shoulder to unknown guests. Surprised at being caught, Ivan slipped out a sheepish “Hello.” “Don't be shy. Me and the fellas were talking about trains and stuff.” Alfred stated brightly, dragging Ivan inside by the arm. The 'fellas' consisted of England, France, Spain, Canada, and Mexico hanging out in the living room with alcoholic beverages of varying strength.

To see so many nations in one place was unnerving to the largely friendless Russia. His irrational paranoia screamed that they could kill him, but the rest of his brain ignored this obvious fact. “What's that twit doing here?” England slurred, drunk but clear enough to function. “Yeah... I'm cutting you off Arthur.” Alfred murmured, clearly unimpressed. Ivan was about to hide in the kitchen, when he was roughly seated next to his bold companion. Sitting so close their legs touched, Alfred continued chattering to the rest of the room.

“So yeah. With the price of oil becoming crazy. I'm thinking, restore and expand the train lines. Like... have a passenger line alongside the freight...” he spoke loudly, competing with the room. “You are overreacting. Americans come over by car all the time, have forever.” Mexico objected, sipping a colourful mix drink. “Yeah. Fuck trains. Well, except for the tubes. Need those.” Britain swore in agreement. France shook his head, protesting “Non non mon cherie. Trains are very important. I keep mine in ze best condition possible, considering my prime minister is a cheap connard.” Spain nodded silently, dark complexion ruddy with inebriation.

“What about you?” Alfred asked, directly addressing Ivan. The Russian who was still shrugging off his fur coat, paused. He didn't honestly know what to say, rarely invited to lively group discussions. “Trains are vital to trade, yes? The Trans Siberian connects all of my land, and former states. I still have running secondary lines to Northern Vietnam, while connecting to Chinese lines.” He responded honestly, after a moment to shuck off his fur coat.

“Woah! You're dressed in clothes from this century. Love the devil shirt. It's so you, Ivan.” Alfred praised, instantly distracted. “Dinosaur.” England muttered, rolling his eyes. France wagged his finger at the impolite Briton. “We must praise others for bettering themselves in fashion.” he scolded. “Captain sweater vest.” Canada giggled while leaning on Mexico, clearly not sober. “Sweater vests are practical and comfortable.” England snarled, glaring at his former colony.

“As much as it pains me to agree with you, sweater vests are superior to long sleeved shirts.” Ivan commented dryly. The room paused, staring at Ivan like he grown a second head. “I think hell froze over. Russia and England agreed on something.” Spain joked, breaking the ice. Thus the conversation revived and carried on.


	34. Chapter 34

After some time, Ivan nudged the warm American relaxing against him. “Huh?” Alfred hummed, looked over his shoulder. “I wish to see the kitten.” Ivan asserted, now impatient. “Oh... yeah! Guys, I found the cutest little thing yesterday. It's in the office.” the American announced, leading the way. The room decided to follow, Ivan right behind. In the cramped office, there was a cardboard box closed with three tiny air holes in it. The tiniest of noises was heard from the inside. Absolutely pissed, Ivan pushed past his stupid friend and approached the box.

“You idiot! You just left the cat in a dark box with almost no air holes! Could you be more inconsiderate!?” Ivan accused angrily, slipping into his native tongue out of habit. “It's probably fine! Cats run themselves!” Alfred yelled back in Russian, irritated. “I can't believe I was thinking of having sex with you when you're so cruel to animals!” Ivan hissed, slapping Alfred lightly. “You... what?” the American muttered, blushing as he clutched his face. Opening the box carefully, Ivan saw the scared kitten inside. “Come little one. I will take care of you.” he whispered in hushed tones. The creature approached his open hand, sniffing curiously. It seemed to accept his presence, licking a finger tip with a tiny sandpaper tongue.

“What was that all about?” Mexico asked, confused. “Oh. Russia's pissed I didn't put enough air holes in the box. I found this kitten left to die in a ditch.” Alfred explained in English, no longer dazed. “Awful angry for a stupid cat.” England dismissed. Gently Ivan scooped the mewling cat into his hands. “Barbarian.” he hissed at Alfred as he left the office in smug manner. “Yeah. He really likes cats.” Alfred said softly, watching the hasty exit.

Once his new pet was fed, watered, and had relieved itself, Ivan rejoined the group. His new little subject was curled up on his lap, purring as it stretched out over his thigh. It hurt when the tiny claws dug into his leg, but the pain was nothing compared to the joy Ivan felt. “So, what are you going to name it?” Canada asked, leaning closer to peer at the animal. “I do not know. She is so pretty. Perhaps Moscow, or Masha. Depends on how bossy she is.” Ivan replied, lighting a cigarette.

“Cats are just... cats. And stop stealing my smokes. They're fuckin' expensive.” Alfred noted, swiping the lit cigarette to take a drag. “I thought you quit.” Canada lamented. Ivan laughed, taking the cigarette back. “No, no. He smokes as much as I do.” he sneered, jabbing Alfred playfully. America jabbed back, responding “To be fair... He only has like... a pack a day.” Ivan shrugged casually with a nod in agreement. “Pure virtue of control, I am.” Russia boasted, earning an eye roll from America.

The friendly get together lasted a while longer, until Alfred kicked everyone out. He no intention of feeding so many, and Ivan didn't expect as much. All nations ate a lot, America more than the rest. Ivan was surprised there wasn't a restaurant built into the house to service such a large appetite. With only the two of them there, The tense energy held within Ivan melted away.

“So... You came for a booty call huh?” Alfred accused, looking displeased. Ivan paused, trying to think of something that didn't sound bad. “Yes.” he finally answered, failing to think of anything else. The honey blonde fumed, his bad mood starting to permeate the moment. “Only if you were willing. I enjoy your company otherwise.” Ivan added, not the best at these types of interactions. “Fuckin' using my body. I should have known.” Alfred muttered darkly, leaving abruptly. As the younger nation stomped upstairs, Ivan gingerly removed the sleeping kitten from his lap. Placing it on a warm towel in the box, Ivan dashed upstairs.

He had ruined everything with just one word. Ivan cursed himself internally as he knocked on the bedroom door. “Alik, let me in. I wish to explain myself.” he ordered. “No! I thought we were friends, and you being so cool with stuff... then you just expect sex! Go away.” Alfred argued, clearly on the other side of the door. “I just want... need... you were so kind to me. I wanted...” Ivan stuttered, lost for words. “Why is this so hard?” he asked, mostly to himself.

There was silence for a minute, then sniffling from the other side. “Sunflower? Why are you sad?” Ivan inquired softly. “I'm not sad. I'm the united states of amazing, and I totally never get sad.” the other nation denied. “I am coming in.” Ivan commanded, starting to twist the door knob beyond It's intended range of use. With a bit of strength, the whole thing broke and jiggled loosely. Pushing the door open, Ivan peered inside. Alfred had retreated behind his bed, gun drawn and aimed at Ivan's centre of mass.

“Just going to to take it from me huh? Well, I won't let you. I'll kill you before you lay a hand on me.” Alfred threaten, shiny trails of tears still present on his face. Ivan wondered why Alfred had been so defensive and shy about sex, assuming the worst all the time. He flashed back to a memory of old, over six hundred years ago. Himself, having been freed from total Mongolian servitude by rage and blade alone. It all made sense, realizing he was once this quick to kill and anger.

“Someone hurt you.” Ivan declared, a burning fire of vengeance flaring within. “No one hurt me. I'm the best goddamn country in the world.” Alfred growled, his lies as transparent as his tears. Ignoring the gun, Ivan slowly approached. Taking the gun away gently, Ivan knelt next to Alfred as he curled upon himself. “I won't hurt you sunflower. Just tell me who defiled you. I'll make it all better.” the ash blonde soothed, wiping a fresh tear away.


	35. Chapter 35

“There was reasons I went independent...” Alfred whispered, barely audible. Ivan kissed him on the forehead, scooping the forlorn figure off the floor. Cuddling and kissing Alfred, Ivan managed to get the tense nation unfurled and playful on the bed. “I thought you were going to take advantage me. I didn't mean to accuse you of that.” Alfred apologized in his half-ass way, melting as Ivan massaged his shoulders. “I understand. I only wanted to show you... how much I care.” Ivan replied, struggling to think of words.

It was hard to vocalize the primitive urges swarming Ivan's system at times. Some days he wanted to fuck Alfred into the ground like an animal. Currently he wanted to rip England's skin off. No, burn his skin off. That was the only possible nation he could think of that had intimate access to Alfred prior to independence. Ivan had known Alfred at the time, but not well. They did become good friends during the civil war though.

“Only when you are ready, yes?” Ivan soothed, feeling strangled inside. To be so close but not be allowed to do anything... again. It was maddening. “Thank you. I really appreciate this. There's still this little problem. Well... big problem, I guess.” Alfred flirted with his clumsy country charm, palming Ivan's trapped cock. The Russian huffed, pushing into the touch. It was difficult to think straight while in this state. “Do not tease...” Ivan whined, utterly failing to sound commanding. 

A fantasy Ivan had masturbated to for over a year came true. Alfred parked between Ivan's legs as the taller nation lay on the bed. America had freed Ivan's saluting member, watching it spring free. It was immediately lavished with kisses, dissolving Russia's remaining will power. “So good.” he groaned, hot all over. “You don't even know what's coming, Vanya.” the American taunted, sultry sky blue eyes dancing with mischief. Then the sexy blonde started sucking the tip of Ivan's cock with wet lips.

Time ceased to matter. Russia shuddered and groaned as his senses were taken for ride. Everything felt amazing, mouth or hands. Every touch send an electric jolt of arousal through the ash blond's system. Blissful heat would build in his loins, only for Alfred to change rhythm or pressure. Unable to articulate anything other than swears or grunts, Ivan's head lolled on the bed as he lost his mind. So close it hurt, Ivan grabbed Alfred's artfully bobbing head and starting fucking it savagely. Alfred choked a little from the motion, but seemed to be handling this well.

“ALFRED!” Ivan cried out, snapping inside. Waves of pleasure rippled through him as he came, pressing his cock deep down Alfred constricted throat. Coughing after, the younger nation had swallowed most of the load pumped into him. Seeing this make Ivan purr with joy, and something else far stronger. “You are an angel...” Ivan sighed, feeling like a tired boneless pile. Alfred blushed at the compliment, putting his glasses back on. “I'm going to clean up, check on the cat, then we can cuddle. Okay?” Alfred informed, rosy cheeked and wonderful looking. “Yes... Cuddles...” Ivan hummed, eyes sliding shut. He fell asleep with a smile.

Ivan felt disorientated, a warm weight leaning on his side. The low rumble of outside traffic littered the silence, the frantic click clack of rapid typing nearby. Cracking open his eyes, Ivan discovered he was not in his bedroom. He was scared for moment, until the warm weight greeted him.

“Hey ruski. Enjoy the nap?” Alfred said, using Russia as an improvised couch while tapping away on his lap top computer. Bright computer glare shimmered off those black wire frame glasses. Ivan hummed, curling more closely around his companion. Mine, Ivan thought as he stuck to America possessively.

After a brief yawn, Ivan asked “Why were so many nations visiting?” “Oh, that!” Alfred noted, perking up enough to tear his eyes from the screen. “The UN, and the meetings are a total fucking joke. When I want to get real work done, I invite people over and chat with them.” he explained, so happy like always. “I love meetings. I get to see my enemies squirm.” Ivan replied sleepily. “... and you wonder why people run away from you.” Alfred chided, shaking his head. “I don't want shallow friendship when I need dedicated allies.” Ivan scoffed, not offended in the least. “Allies huh? That's what you call me sucking you off?” the American protested, looking disheartened. Ivan had almost forgotten how little self esteem his companion had, given his massive patriotic ego. “No. You are mine. No one else can touch you now.” the Russian promised, joy bubbling inside.

“Yours huh? You gonna take care of me and feed me like your little cat?” Alfred joked, pushing his computer away to snuggle closely. “If you wish. I could have a fluffy cat costume made for you, then take you home on the plane.” Ivan answered seriously. Give the horrors the Russian had encountered while plunging the depths of the internet, this request was delightfully tame. “God, you're so weird. Give me kisses.” Alfred demanded, not staying still. 

Pinning Alfred down with his sheer body weight, Ivan licked the tanned blond's face happily. “Eww! That tickles! Stop it! Iiivaaan!” America squealed, rolling to get free. Ivan pursued, happier than he had been in decades. He would make the most of this visit, before he was yanked back to his dreary ice gripped homeland.


	36. Chapter 36

What was it about him that was so entrancing? Was it those summery blue eyes like polished gems? Perhaps it was that strong caramel jawline, shifting with every spoken word. Ivan sighed, scrolling the pictures of America on his phone. Ivan's heart beat quickened at the though of seeing his pseudo-lover soon, today in fact. They had yet to make love, but they had done nearly everything else. Patience, Ivan had in spades.

“Braginsky, pay attention! This is important!” a grating voice interrupted Ivan's day dreaming, making him lower the phone. It was his current filler president, a squat man as ill tempered as he was short. Ivan couldn't stand him, but he promised not to do anything regrettable for another week. His precious sunflower would be quite angry if he discovered Ivan had killed another stand in leader. Russia needed a cigarette from just talking to this clown.

“Sir, I think I'm in love.” Ivan sighed, not listening at all. Clutching the phone to his chest, he wore a dopey smile. “This doesn't concern me.” the vice-president snarled, getting into Ivan's personal space. The notorious bloodthirsty nation bristled, bubbly cheer replaced by stony anger. The four body guards in the room cringed, knowing full well who Ivan was. They had actually witnessed the last vice president getting his heart ripped out after trying to subdue Ivan with a harsh slap. As always, they were well paid for their silent service.

“Perhaps you should be nicer to your chief advisor, Mr. President.” one of the body guards suggested bravely, avoiding eye contact with Ivan. “I will do what I want.” the foolish man barked back, taking Ivan's phone away from him. Russia fumed, clenching his fists. He promised, he promised not to do anything. It was so hard not to do something.

“Now that I have your full attention, when the American diplomat gets here, behave. The American maybe untrustworthy dogs, but they consist 78% of the buyers for our products.” Ivan gritted his teeth, struggling to remain calm. It was true, after the China-Russo war last year, American were less than friendly towards the Chinese. The entire USA consumer base was gradually shifting to equally shoddy but slightly cheaper Russian products. Ivan could feel this change within, feeling more energetic and ambitious every month. While Chinese products were still distributed everywhere else, China was definitely looking weaker these days.

“Mr. Jones is not a dog, sir. He is a trusted friend of mine. Do not speak so lightly of my allies.” Ivan declared coldly, a sea of rage beneath his frigid exterior. The human scoffed, dismissing the thinly veiled threat. “All Americans are the same to me, fools and liars.” he spat. “Take that back.” Ivan growled, now standing. “I don't take orders from those of lesser standing. Sit down or you are fired!” the squat vice-president growled.

It only took a second, a momentary loss of control. Ivan grabbed the idiot by the throat, a maniacal giggle snaking out from the depths of his shattered mind. “So so sorry sir. Did I squeeze to hard? Would you like more sugar in your tea? Please tell me how unsatisfactory my efforts have been!” He cackled, falling into mad oblivion. Skin and muscle parted like butter before him, that fat neck pulped until the head was hanging back at an unnatural angle. The body twitched a few times then went still. Lowering the corpse to the floor, Ivan sat on top of it. A wild tortured laugh ripped out of him, fuelled by long suppressed traumas.

The body guards didn't react, looking steadfastly ahead as Ivan carved open the dead man with a dull letter opener. “Sitting now sir. I always try my best to serve the people...” Ivan whispered, ripping the bloody rib cage open with gloved hands. Seeing the still warm prize, he ripped out the heart. Hugging it closely to his own irregularly beating organ, Ivan rocked himself slowly. “I love my people. I won't let anything compromise their well being. Not even you, sir.” he continued, unsure if the man would talk back.

“Mr. Braginsky. Someone wants to see you.” a rather bored looking secretary informed, peeking into the room. Despite the gory scene depicted before her, she didn't seem to care. Ivan was pleased the newest secretary was working out so well. She had been hand picked for her excellent typing skills and storied history as a trained assassin. Even the presidential bodyguards were well trained combatants with psychiatric training.

“Who is it Monika?” Ivan asked serenely, carving Alfred's name into the heart with notable skill. “A Mr. Jones. He appears to be alone.” she explained. “Wonderful. Send him in.” he ordered cheerfully. Moments later, his precious sunflower walked in. Alfred wore a lovely blue suit, an American flag pin over his heart. “Hey big guy, how's it – Oh shit!” He swore mid greeting, put off by Ivan splattered in human blood.


	37. Chapter 37

Ivan paused, wondering if he'd done something wrong. “So... what's going on here?” Alfred asked cautiously, coming closer. “I was trying so hard Alik, but he never liked my work! He said the worst things! I... tried so hard.” Ivan wailed, clutching the human heart so hard it was shredding in his grip. The Russian felt so stressed, fractured between homicidal anger and suicidal sorrow.

“Aww come here. It's okay. You're just a little crazy right now.” Alfred cooed, pulling him into a tight hug. Ivan made a noise of contentment, putty in the American's arms. After being kissed and petted, his irregularly racing heart seemed to calm down. “How do you feel now big guy?” the honey blonde asked softly, avoiding touching the bloody parts of his companion. “Better... tired.” Ivan murmured honestly, sagging forward.

“You want to tell me what he said that pissed you off so much?” Alfred continued. Ivan hesitated, then looked at his blood and organ spattered hands. He owed his lover that much. “He... insulted American consumers. He's been telling me how bad of job I'm doing all the time... Then he took away my casual clothes... then my phone, and I thought... he might hit me. I hate the ones that hit me.” Ivan admitted, feeling better from just talking about it.

“No one's going to hit you. If you promise not to kill anything else, I'll take you out for lunch. Sound good?” the handsome blond offered, giving Ivan a kiss on the cheek. “I'm still... edgy as you say. I might need an hour to clean up.” Ivan conceded, nuzzling Alfred's warm neck. “Eww. Don't get blood on my suit, I really like this one!” Alfred protested, pushing a giggling Ivan away. “Does America want a red hug?” Ivan taunted, switching sharply to a playful mood. “Oh gross! Stay away!” He squeaked, leaping away.

Ivan politely shed his bloody blazer after transferring all the things out of his pockets. No need to track blood all over the place. Phone recovered from the dead vice president's pocket, Ivan waved over one of the goons. Most of them had been around for twenty years, professional yet friendly with him. “Vladislav... call the cleaners. I will dispose of Mr. Bodroff. If family comes looking for him, I will answer any questions. Mr. Jones and I will talk to head of finances personally.” he commanded, peeling his bloody leather gloves off. He discarded them on the corpse, along with the ruined blazer and tie.

“Of course sir. Bodroff had a meeting for six with representatives from Latvia. Should I cancel the appointment?” the man asked as he picked up the phone on the desk. Ivan snorted, replying “Yes. That insect can wait another day.”

Alfred milled around, looking at the pictures of Putin that still hung on the wall. When Ivan was done issuing orders, his sunny companion remarked “So you just run the country when there's no stand in, huh.” Ivan shook his head, giggling. “No sunflower. I am maintaining status quo until a replacement arrives. I am far too insane to perform such a task.” he explained, fully aware of how cruel he could be. “Oh come on. You're not... only kinda... yeah. You are super crazy. But at least you're cute.” Alfred agreed heartily. Ivan blushed, still unused to positive attention. “Thank you.” the ash blond Slav whispered, wishing he could hide in his scarf.

“Let's dump this dude somewhere, then get the meeting over with. You promised me a trip to the space museum.” America concluded, clapping his hands together. “Very well.” Ivan surmised. “What would I do without you my sunflower?” He mused, following behind his American lover as they left the room. “Kill another president maybe? Be less awesome I guess? I am an excellent role model.” Alfred prattled on, basking in the attention. Listening silently, the Russian was grateful. He finally felt human again.

Yes. Ivan could not be more pleased. The first non manipulated election for thirty years had come and gone, with excellent results. All the candidates for the Russian presidency were barely corrupted, and quite young. Assuming the insultingly short presidential terms were overturned again, Ivan could look forward to many healthy years with his new boss. 

The new president was young, optimistic yet serious. His parents were not crushingly poor or disgustingly rich. He had been in and out of local politics since college, with less education but more life experiences. Ivan almost preferred the less educated ones that played international politics on gut instinct and familial wisdom. They were usually more rooted in reality than the academic ones.

Almost a whole season passed by before Alfred had spare time to see the new president. While Ivan wasn't resentful of this, he was becoming physically frustrated. Video chats were purely a band-aid solution for his extremely long distance relationship. As far as he was concerned, that's what him and Alfred had. Strangely the American more than tolerated his possessive nature, soaking in all the attention Ivan could spare. Conveniently, Russia was always pent up with affections to lavish on his chosen sunflower.


	38. Chapter 38

Ivan waited impatiently in the noisy airport, looking on anxiously. His dear America was coming out of that flight gate any minute. The president had been cautious, saying obvious things like “You're my head advisor, maybe you shouldn't be out in the open.” or “Airports are high risk areas for government representatives.” The new leader didn't know Ivan was immortal, or able to throw motorcycles like they were small rocks. He had so much to learn.

Grumpy Russians filed slowly out of the gate, grumbling about long flights and miserable weather. He ignored them, seeing a flash of golden hair in the far back. It... wasn't him. Ivan wilted, sinking into the folding chair he had brought. There wasn't many people left on the flight. Then another shimmer of blonde emerged. Tanned skin, eyes like the ocean... “Alik!” Ivan called out, desperate to see his companion.

“Vanya!” Alfred responded, pushing people over to get out faster. The wind was knocked out of Ivan's lungs as the smaller nation tackled him. They kissed frantically, not caring about the public venue. “Get a room!” someone yelled in the distance, snapping them back to reality. Flushed and smiling, they both picked themselves off the ground. Alfred held hands with him as they waited by baggage claims. It was a relief to know Ivan wasn't the only one hungry for company.

Dragging far too many luggage cases, the duo piled into Ivan's newest car. It was black and comfortable for tall people, the only requirements he cared about. Ivan was capable of pulling a vehicle with his bare hands, so towing capacity was not an issue. “Ooh new wheels. The old Lada died on you?” Alfred asked, playing with every button in the radio. It was touching that the patriotic American was sticking to Russian, making things easier for Ivan.

“Yeah. I was going to get a Ford, but the Lada is more affordable.” Ivan lamented. “That sucks. I guess your pay is still crap then?” Alfred replied, buckling himself in. Ivan turned on the dash cam, nodding, then began driving. It took entirely too long to return home. The couple was on each other the second they were inside the house. They fell into bed, a tangle of hungry limbs and small sounds. Ivan broke their kisses to breathe and hurriedly undo buttons. Just as Alfred shucked his pants off excitedly, Ivan's phone rang.

“If you answer that, I'm going to be pissed.” Alfred threatened, hand cupping Ivan's crotch. “It could be... important.” Ivan panted, eyes squeezed shut. A third ring, then a fourth. Ivan grabbed the device from his bedside, answering hurriedly “Yes?” “Mr. Braginsky, when are we expecting this American you spoke so fondly of?” his boss asked. Ivan could see Alfred's eyes narrow as he mouthed the words 'fucking bastard'.

“So what accommodations will we be needing?” the man asked, oblivious to Ivan's predicament. Without warning, his cock was freed and sucked by the very talented American. Russia let out a strangled sound of pleasure, arching into enveloping wet heat. “What was that?” his boss pressed. “It was... was. Two hours. See you in two hours... any Offfice will.... do.” Ivan hissed, hanging up suddenly. “You are very bad.” the ash blonde sighed as Alfred popped off his cock. “I didn't fly across the world to have my sexy fun time ruined by your job.” the freckled nation complained, blushing. Ivan grunted in agreement, pulling him down for more kisses. When they stopping consuming each other long enough to breathe, the remainder of the clothes were tossed aside carelessly.

The sex was rough and primal. It wasn't their first coupling, but nearly. With so many interruptions and obstacles thrown in their way, it was a miracle they had enough time to talk over coffee anymore. Now was their time, in this dim bedroom, their private space. Joined in battle, then joined in despair, and now...

“Harder, fuck!” America growled, sweaty and rosy with lust beneath Ivan. With a silent prayer, Ivan groaned and obeyed. Since they had only tried three positions up to now, Ivan vastly preferred missionary. Watching Alfred's many expressions of bliss through a haze of lust was greatly fulfilling. It always seemed like right of passage, an evolution in the relationship. Admittedly their first time had been a series of mistakes and impatience. Ivan knew better, to take his time, to not be so punishing.

Racing towards their inevitable yet pleasurable conclusion, The ash blond locked eyes with his partner. Watching, taking in every blush and passionate gasp. He memorized such things religiously, his own personal treasure. Steadily thrusting deep, Ivan could feel himself getting close. He started panting and swearing in his native tongue with the effort. He couldn't achieve orgasm before Alfred. It would be embarrassing. Still, the perfect hot flesh around him was overwhelming.

Alfred let out unintelligent sound as he released all over himself, arching and crowing like a beast in heat. The sight and sensation was too much, Ivan's cock squeezed so right in that abused channel. Ivan fell apart, pushing hard a few times as he followed off the edge. “Oh god, oh fucking... Alfred!” he moaned, awash with electric pleasure.

Not much registered as the two lay connected for a few minutes. Begrudgingly, the Russian allowed his softening cock to slip free. Cooling cum dribbled out onto fresh new sheets. Ivan couldn't find it in him to be upset. It just seemed so petty to worry over at this point.

The pair lay in bed, sated and relaxed. Blanket twisted around their entwined forms, trapping shared heat. Cuddling Ivan's shoulder, Alfred draped an arm across the Russian's slight fuzzy chest. “I love you.” Ivan sighed, nuzzling tousled golden locks. “You're such a sap. I... I love you too.” Alfred stammered slightly, still unused to the phrase. It had only been uttered twice before, a rare line between obtuse lovers. Basking in the joy of the moment, Ivan kissed that handsome tan face. 

“Pass me my glasses? I don't wanna move.” the American requested, giving Ivan an affectionate squeeze. Moscow, the frightened kitten found in a ditch, had grown into a proud cat. She was long white fur and pure determination, not afraid to jump on people to get attention. The sassy feline hopped onto the bed, tired of waiting to be petted. “Little princess, have you come for kisses?” Ivan cooed, lazily reaching out. Moscow mewed in affirmation, pressing into his hand.

Putting on his glasses, Alfred smiled. “Hello kitty. You look so pretty!” he greeted. The cat seemed to judge him, then batted him in the face with a paw. “What the fuck. Your cat's a jerk!” he whined, wincing. “Good Moscow.” Ivan murmured, scratching his faithful pet behind the ears. After several sweet nothings, the cat settled for stretching out over the pair, kneading long claws into the fluffy blanket.


	39. Chapter 39

Like always, fate intervened in their domestic bliss. The phone rang, both of them. That was a bad sign! Ivan warily answered his first, leaving the room. It was only far, since Alfred probably couldn't walk straight. Ivan's boss sounded furious.

“You are late!” he yelled over the line. “Sir, I was spending time with my sunflower... I lost track of time.” Ivan admitted. “You were gardening?” the man asked indignantly. “No, I was with... my... boyfriend. I haven't seen him for three months.” Ivan explained, voice going tiny with fear as he continued. Almost every leader he ever had was fiercely hostile towards homosexuals. He could only hope this one was different.

“Well... um... that is interesting. Please report to my office with the American diplomat as soon as possible. You did pick him up from the airport, right?” The awkwardness was palpable as subjects were switched. “Yes. He is in the other room.” Ivan supplied, sucking in a breath. There was nothing, then a sound of exasperation. “Was this meeting a ploy to see your... boyfriend?” the president inquired flatly.

“No sir. I take my job very seriously. Alik, I mean... Mr. Jones is very important to his people.” Ivan fretted. “Just... show up soon.” the human ceded, conversation effectively over. Ivan bid goodbye, then re-entered the messy bedroom. Alfred was done with his call as well, rubbing his temples while laying down. “Your boss's secretary nagged me to show up.” he explained when Ivan gave a questioning look.

In all honestly Ivan wanted to really spoil Alfred with aftercare. He wanted a nice slow bubble bath and movies with snuggles. The ridiculous American deserved it after being ravished thoroughly. Instead, they were subjected to a lukewarm speed shower. Alfred was a little tender, so Ivan handed him clothes from the floor while dressing frantically. Since sweat and cum had ruined his other shirt, Ivan had to get a fresh one. He picked a collared long sleeve and a sweater vest with minimum colour matching.

Alfred snorted, finished and ready before Ivan was. “You dress like a dork.” he teased, chuckling into his hand. “You've been wearing converse since the 1940's. You are not a sound judge of fashion.” Russia dismissed, threading a belt through pant loops. It was miraculous that they made it to the Russian white house in under an hour. City traffic was horrible, as per usual.

Slightly out of breath, they piled into the Russian president's office with barely any securely checks. Anyone who didn't know who they were was terrified into submission by Ivan's freezing glare. “Sir. I am sorry for the delay.” Ivan gushed, saluting upon entry out of ancient habit. “Just sit.” the human president replied coolly, not looking up from his desk papers. Ivan obeyed, wondering if he would be punished for his actions. This new one had seemed promising so far.

“Alfred Foster Jones, commander chief to the American people, head presidential advisor, and six other titles I can't recall right now. It's a pleasure to meet you Mr. Petroff.” Alfred greeted warmly with the smile of an angel, his Russian perfect and smooth. He must have been practising more, as Ivan specifically requested. The thought was flattering.

“Although I'm honoured to finally meet you, I am suspicious. You seem so young for someone of such high rank.” The Russian president noted, leaning back in his chair with tented fingers. “Like Ivan here, I grew into my role a long time ago. I've always been involved with my government.” Alfred offered happily, not pacing the office for once. “I do not understand. You inherited this rank?” the human asked quizzically, head tilted slightly.

Alfred paused, then looked at Russia in judgmental manner. “You didn't give him the talk, did you?” he scolded lightly. Ivan looked away sheepishly, replying “I was busy. Maybe you should do it.” “Omigod Braginsky, you are the worst! You had like four months to say something.” the tanned American harped, giving Ivan a light slap. Russia merely shrugged, suddenly quite interested in his trimmed nails.

One of the body guards in the room rolled his eyes, but said nothing. “What talk?” the president demanded, looking concerned. “Vanya, where's the photo album, the really really old one?” Alfred asked. “I'll go get it.” Ivan volunteered, saving his companion the travel pains.


	40. Chapter 40

An hour later, a very troubled looking president was seated on either side by chatting nations, A thick leather bound book open on his desk. “Oh remember Vanya? This was a dance we went to in 1893.” Alfred squealed excitedly, tapping on the plastic page sleeve. “It was a ball, Alik. Peasants go to dances.” Ivan corrected, looking at the sepia image. It was himself, slightly younger, with a very elaborate ceremonial uniform on. Alfred stood next to him in the image, woefully under dressed for the winter palace. That had been a fun night... before the troubles.

“This is fake. These pictures are fake. There's no way Mr. Braginsky is over a hundred years old.” the human argued reasonably, arms crossed. Ivan burst into laughter, unable to contain himself. He was a hair away from being one thousand years old. Most of the middle east made his age a mere ripple in the pool of time. “Should you do the test or me?” Alfred asked, making a gun symbol with his hand.

Seeing their nation fast heal was usually what it took for any leader to believe. “I will do it. It would be rude to make guests bleed on the rug.” Ivan volunteered cheerfully. “Too kind of you.” Alfred replied sarcastically. Leaving his chair, Ivan took a long serrated dagger from his cozy sweater vest. “Please watch closely sir.” he instructed. 

“What are you doing? You could hurt yourself with that!” the president objected. Ivan smiled, pressing the dagger into his palm length wise. It screamed like fire, a familiar punishment. “We need to find a first aid kit!” the human fretted, about to get up. “Watch.” Ivan growled, hold the man down with ease. Terrified, the trapped world leader watched with wide eyes. The shallow but long cut stitched together in a minute, only a trail of blood left to note anything had happened at all.

Dabbing the mess away, Ivan discarded the tissues politely in a nearby garbage bin. He moved his chair back to the other side of the desk, with Alfred following suite. Mr. Petrov stared in shock at Ivan, not uttering a word. “Sir? Do you need anything? Perhaps tea?” Ivan offered hopefully. The human blinked, demanding “What are you?”

“I'm... your chief advisor. A voice for the people.” Ivan explained, casting his eyes to the floor in disappointment. He might have to kill this one too. Alfred intervened, clarifying “He's really important. He feels what his people feel, representing the country of Russia.” The human snorted derisively, mockingly replying. “Oh, so I have the mighty immortal spirit of the Russian people in the flesh, fetching me tea? “That's pretty much it, Petroff. See? You get it.” Alfred cheered.

“Do you know how insane this sounds?” the human objected. Ivan shrugged casually. “Men, take him away. He's clearly insane.” the president ordered. None of the four bodyguards budged so much as an inch. “We can't do that sir. It would be treason to attempt it.” one replied, sounding bored. “I'd pardon it. Just do it.” the president insisted. “We value our lives too much for that.” another admitted.

“So... you've turned my men against me. What are you going to do?” The stubborn president asked, highly suspicious. “Whatever you need. Order is all I've ever wanted.” Ivan appealed, looking up shyly. “You really like this one, huh? He's totally paranoid.” Alfred remarked, giving the saddened Russian a pat on the back.

“And that makes you... what?” the confused human wondered, directing his attention to Alfred. “United States of America, here and ready to dazzle.” the happy blonde offered, along with a Hollywood smile. “Russia and USA... are dating.” the president said slowly, looking rather pale. “Yes, but only for a year or two. We were just friends for like twenty four. After his stupid soviet obsession was done in 1991, it took... a while... to fix stuff.” Alfred rambled, frowning slightly.

It seemed to physically hurt to see his sunflower saddened by burdens from the past. Ivan dragged his boyfriend's chair closer impulsively, then kissed him several times. “Sunflowers are not sad, Alik. Let us think of happier things.” he urged, squeezing an American hand in comfort.

“I need time to think.” the president muttered, looking very far away. “I'd love to do that, but we don't have the luxury. I only have five days here, and two of those days are going to be spent sight seeing with this big lug.” the American clarified, oblivious to the mild nervous break down the human was going through. “We should give him a few minutes to breathe before he passes out, yes?” Ivan suggested, standing. Alfred rolled his eyes but complied, taking his time to get up.


	41. Chapter 41

After making out in a public bathroom like horny teens, the couple decided to check up on the shell shocked president. The man seemed to have more colour in his complexion, and he wasn't shaking. Maybe he would make a good leader after all. After exchanging papers and approving of ideas, the president started crawling out of his quiet shell.

“Mr. Jones, if you are indeed the symbol of the US... why are you switching to our products? We can't compete with Chinese suppliers in some respects. Namely, price.” the man asked while still boggling over how much stuff America wanted made. “That is an excellent question. It's completely out of spite. I want to destroy China's economy, ensuring he can never finance his space program like... ever. Only me and the big guy here would be going to space ever, if I had my way. It's like... our thing.” the sentimental nation responded, wearing a dreamy expression.

“It's rude to suppress other people's space programs Alik.” Ivan nagged, disapproving. “What? I didn't bother yours!” his companion argued. “Because I shot you in the shoulder.” Russia retorted. “You were being stubborn about communism. It's not my fault you were so unreasonable.” the honey blond dismissed. “And you were the sane one?” Ivan rebutted.

“Idiot.”

“Big nosed freak.”

“Scatter brain!”

“Stupid russki!”

“Ignorant American pig!”

The pair glared at each other, then Alfred queried “Hey you want to go out for ice cream later?” Ivan nodded, happily adding “There is a new dairy bar downtown I wish to try.” Catching the odd look from the president, Alfred perked an eyebrow. “You want to come too?” he wondered out loud. “My esteemed leader does not have time to frolic and eat sugar treats, Alik. Technically I don't either.” Ivan said flatly while reviewing America's consumer demands. “We will need to refurbish several factories to meet these orders. That will take months.” he added after a minute. “I figured. We could spare up to a year before the public notices inventory shortage. That's when several Asian contracts are severed.” Alfred agreed, quite serious.

After working hard, It was a relief to take a break. The two nations were eating impressively large sundaes while watching pedestrian traffic outside the ice cream store. “I think this one is a good boss.” Alfred noted, mouth full. Not looking at what he knew was a disgusting mess, Ivan busied himself with eating each layer of toppings. He hoped to high heaven Alfred was right for once.


	42. Chapter 42

The world laughed at Russia when he first revealed his president's ambitious plans. To conquer Mars was impossible, the other nations claimed. It would be too expensive and wasteful, they sneered. Ivan was not to be diverted from his goal, for his wise leader had commanded it. The red planet would be Russian territory, no matter how many people had to die to achieve it.

Surprisingly Alfred was the first to volunteer his own time to the project. At this point, Ivan hadn't even finished the power point presentation for this proposal. He could have shown a crayon drawing of mars with two stick people on it, and Alfred would still tag along. Ivan could understand the excitement though. The idea of settling a new planet was too amazing not to try.

It was now five years since the USA and Russian Federation began cooperatively pitching an effort to reach mars. There was daily communication between NASA and the esteemed Roscosmos space agency. Smaller independent organizations like SpaceX showed up from the beginning, making the daunting task of colonizing another planet slightly more achievable. Ivan's once quaint living room was now dominated by idea boards, scientific papers, and oddly, Lego. The colourful building toys were ideal for building models of possible machinery and structures. Ivan would had preferred more mature modelling clay, but didn't want it smashed into his nice oak flooring.

Ivan didn't know what day it was anymore. He had spent dozens of hours continuously trying to solve a massive problem. Space was as heartless as she was beautiful, teeming with methods to kill travelling cosmonauts. Their little colony plans would go up in flames if the ship couldn't survive the journey.

“Come on Muffin, you gotta eat and sleep!” America urged, a small yawn leaving him. “No. I'm not done.” Ivan refused, staring at scientific charts with heavy eyes. He took a long blink, then massaged his temples. He looked up, realizing the silly name he had been called. “I am not a muffin.” he argued tiredly. “Yes you are. And you're gonna put down those papers and come to bed. We're gonna have sex or cuddle or whatever, and you're gonna tell me how amazing I am.” the cocky American ordered.

“No.” Ivan answered simply, returning to his studies. Without warning Alfred sat on his lap, crushing any papers or open books in the way. “Pay attention to me.” the honey blonde commanded, begging puppy eyes turned up to maximum. It was hard to stay so irritated with someone so endearing, and naked. He was being more casual than Ivan, who was wearing silly Cheburashka pyjamas.

Giving up on fighting the terrors of space for now, Ivan conceded to his partner's will. It was impossible not to. In five years of working together, he had grown closer than ever to Alfred. The fate of both the American and Russian economies was locked in a tidal pull. Americans consumed Russian goods as the much stronger US dollar built factories and housing for Russian labourers. Socialized schools, community centres, and hospitals followed where the people gathered and settled. These reborn towns produced more products, and the cycle rolled on.

Carrying the nude American upstairs, Ivan kissed the blonde sweetly. “I spoil you Alik. You have become very demanding.” Ivan chided gently. “Can't help being precious. And sexy.” Alfred replied with a playful wink, holding on tightly. “So full of shit, you have not changed.” Ivan retorted, dumping Alfred on the king size bed. “Like you're any better.” the honey blonde answered cheerfully, reaching for Ivan lazily. Ivan took his old sleepwear off, laying next to his eternal sunflower. Just as America got worked up over the possibility of having sex, Ivan passed out.

The next morning, the couple returned to their feverish work pace. Alfred only had five more days before he was forced back to his president's side. Ivan wasn't not a fan of his lover's latest boss. The only positive to the situation was how stupid he was. Alfred had convinced the short sighted world leader of many things, trifling and massive. The memory of a grudge against Russia was beginning to fade from collective American memory. This new president was eager to meet Ivan, being quite friendly. Historically, American leaders had treated Ivan like a stain on an expensive sweater.

The worst happened. It was the last day of Alfred's visit. They were currently making out passionately in the back of Ivan's car at the airport. Up until the very last minute, the love struck Russian wanted to savour every moment with his precious darling. “Vanya I have to go.” Alfred moaned between kisses. “No, no, not yet.” Ivan whispered, desperate to hold and feel. “I love you, but we have thirty minutes left.” his partner objected. Ivan continued kissing anyway, pressing so close he could feel Alfred's strong heart beat.

“Think of me when I'm gone.” Ivan spoke softly. “I will.” Alfred murmured. “Eat your vegetables, even when I'm not there. Be nice to your president, even if he's stupid.” Ivan continued anxiously, not letting go. “You're just saying that because he called at new years eve.” The tanned nation beneath him countered, rolling his eyes. “Send a video call as soon as you arrive, so I know you're safe.” the Russian added hurriedly, as his lover squirmed out from beneath him.

Ivan always refused to follow Alfred into the building, only to sneak in after. He would then torture himself, plastered against the window. Watching every moment the plane was on the ground, he wouldn't budge. Not until the plane took off and vanished into the heavens could Ivan bear to leave. Three weeks, that was how long he had to make it alone until the next visit. They alternated who did the flying to keep air travel costs to a minimum. These few weeks were going to be impossible.


	43. Chapter 43

Two weeks later, Ivan was in his boss's office. He tried reading over reports from the Immigration Department, but had difficulty focusing. Checking his phone, he became lost in the picture he used for a background. It was Alfred, with his wonderful smile and summer blue eyes. Sighing sadly, he stopped gazing lovingly at the image putting the phone away.

“Oh. My. God.” the president grumbled, covering his face with both hands. Dragging them through his hair, he looked at Ivan with an accusative glare. “Are you done?” he asked, though Ivan felt it was a rhetorical question. “What, sir?” he replied timidly. Why could the president possibly look so upset? “All you've done is sulk and look at your boyfriend's picture all day. Could you try to work?” the man clarified irritably.

Ivan looked at the floor, heart aching. All he wanted was to hold and kiss Alfred breathless, never letting him out of sight range again. He didn't know he could need someone so badly. “Just... ugh. Go and see your boyfriend. Get all this mush out of your system, and get some damn work done.” The man ordered after observing the pathetic display. Ivan looked up cautiously to make sure this was real and not a dream.

“Thank you sir! You are so generous and magnificent! There will be praises and songs of your kindness!” Ivan rambled with instant unfiltered joy. “Of course.” the man answered flatly, going back to his own task. Skipping out of the office, Ivan headed for home. Of course, he'd already packed his clothes and travel gear. They had been ready since the day Alfred left.

The flight seemed so long! Why couldn't the plane go faster!? It felt like torture to be away so long from his beloved. Moscow was equally displeased, shoved quite unwillingly into her travel carrier. Against protocol, Ivan had bribed a few airport staff to let him sit next to his precious kitty on the plane. Since the snowy white cat was violently hostile towards Latvia, the Russian had brought her along. The deep scratches the prissy feline had left on Lithuania hadn't looked too comfortable either.

After a cat nap, no pun intended, Ivan was happy to see the airport in New York appear. The JFK airport was bustling like usual when he finally left the craft for solid ground. Ivan, as loving and devoted as he was, kept social tabs on his favourite freckled nation. America was a terrible social network abuser, vomiting his every waking thought on the internet with anonymous accounts. Of course Ivan knew every single one, and bugged his work computer.

Today Alfred was in New York at an art gallery opening dedicated to the American president. He was apparently forced to attend, from the annoying texts he kept firing off to his Canadian sibling. Using GPS to track down the gallery, Ivan was soon in visual range of the building. Due to the sweltering American summer, Ivan was wearing a trendy dark shirt and jeans with a colourful scarf. The scarf was admittedly gay looking. He had bottomed enough times now that it wasn't really an incorrect assumption anymore. Besides, he was off work and allowed to wear expressive things.

Ivan was about to cruise into the large white gallery undetected, when a bouncer stopped him at the door. The Russian cursed his luck, knowing roubles were largely worthless in the USA. There was no way he'd have enough to bribe this guy. Additionally, Ivan had no idea this event was so exclusive. No matter, he was going to see his beloved!

Knocking the guy unconscious with a public garbage can, Ivan strolled in casually. He gave a few men in uniform the slip, spotting his prey. Alfred was semi-casual with an expression of utmost boredom. He was trailing behind his incompetent current president, completely out of his element. Ivan waited until Alfred was distracted by a painting, far away from bodyguards or press.

Ivan pounced on Alfred, knocking him to the ground. The American's shocked outrage melted to wordless bliss as the tangled on the floor, desperate to hold each other closely. “Vanya.” Alfred whispered reverently, nuzzling Ivan's scarred neck. “I missed you.” Ivan murmured back, peppering that caramel complexion with kisses. “That's the guy!” someone shouted from afar, heavy foot steps drawing closer. 

“Meet me outside, dearest!” Ivan whispered, giving a breathe stealing kiss before bolting off. Laughing maniacally, he bowled two suited men over and escaped onto the street. Leaping over moving cars with the grace of a cat, Ivan scampered up an alley way fire escape. The enemy never looked up. Panting, he lay on the gravel roof as the adrenaline faded. Damn, when did he get so agile? That feat of acrobatics was totally impressive. He was distracted from his self admiration by a call on the phone a few minutes later.

“Speaking.” Ivan answered simply. “Beating up a guy with a garbage can isn't very nice, man. You could have dented it, then tax payer money has to replace it.” Alfred teased over the line. “Of course. Next time I will save public funds and bring my own weapon.” Ivan agreed pleasantly. It was one of countless blessing that Alfred never got mad about these public incidents. He mostly found them humorous. “Now where did you run off to? I can't see your giant nose, which means you're at least two blocks away.” the American continued in joking fashion.

“I am on the roof across the street, it is an ugly apartment building.” Ivan explained, crawling over to look over the edge. There his clever little American was, spotting the Russian's windswept hair from across the street. In no time the younger nation had made it onto the roof. 

“Didn't know you could reach a ladder that high old timer.” Alfred teased as he hopped over the roof edge onto flat gravel. He looked just as winded as Ivan had from the feat, pausing to breathe. “You doubted me. How cruel.” Ivan accused smugly, not offended at all.

Making a cute squeal of joy, Alfred collided softly into Ivan's side, laying down as he hugged tightly. “You're early. What's the occasion?” the tanned blonde inquired, so close his heart beat could be felt. “My boss allowed me to leave early, but there was a price. I will be working most of the time.” Ivan informed quietly, trying to get impossibly closer.

Alfred sulked at this unsurprising news, flicking Ivan on the nose. The Russian winced, growling. “How many times have I told you? On US soil, you're mine. No nosy humans allowed.” the American ordered sternly, doing a poor imitation of Ivan. The ash blonde didn't like being flicked, but otherwise basked in the attention. He could at least have this one day to himself.


	44. Chapter 44

Due to living half a planet away, Ivan quickly crashed. A very irritated cat and two luggage cases had been transferred to Alfred's sky high New York apartment directly from the airport. Ivan was the last to arrive on the 20th floor of the modern building, all but carried into the living space by his partner. The apartment was spacious and modern with a hyper patriotic portrait of a bald eagle dominating one wall.

This place was the first major decision the couple had made together, well over four years ago. It was a tie between this or an anonymous apartment in France. Neither nation enjoyed having to fly most of a day to see each other. New York was only a seven hour flight for Ivan, and a three hour flight for Alfred. Decorating the place had been Alfred's task, since Ivan truly didn't care. Moscow seemed pleased with the familiar accommodations, playing with her climbing post tucked in the corner.

“... and I'll make you coffee. Then we can stay up and talk about my week. My boss is super into art, so I ended up going to like three galleries this week. It was so boring! None of them were as good as you anyway. Oh, did you know that...” Wow, could Alfred talk!

Ivan blinked blearily, propping his head up with a hand. The Russian really did want to stay awake, but he could feel his entire body sliding into blissful rest. “Alik, I will be right back.” Ivan groaned, wrenching himself into a standing position. Heading to the bedroom, he flopped on the sunshine yellow duvet. The mattress was so soft, just a few minutes couldn't hurt.

He was shaken awake a few hours later, somehow stripped to his boxers and tucked in. It was hardly a mystery who had did all this. “What?” He grumbled, shielding his eyes from lamp light. “Get up, and put real clothes on. We have to video chat with Finland in like... five minutes.” Alfred informed, yanking warm covers away. Five minutes later, Ivan was in Gena the crocodile pyjama bottoms with a Roscosmos t-shirt, still not understanding why he was up exactly. Most things done with Alfred were unplanned in this way.

The large screen TV mounted on the wall was turned on and switched to a different input mode. Ivan watched Alfred do all the work while sipping tea from the long leather sofa. In no time at all, there was a video call logo on the screen. Alfred engaged the logo with a remote, sitting next to Ivan. The Russian pulled him closer, until the tanned nation was almost on his lap. Much better.

After a busy signal, a curious Finland was dominating the TV screen. Although cleaned up nicer, he looked as tired as the frazzled Russian felt. “Is it working now Sve? Last time I checked, the signal was still... Oh. It's okay! I'm fine now!” the violet eyed blonde yelled past the camera point. The unmistakable accent of Sweden was in the background, making no sense like usual.

“My apologies, Mr. America. It is very early here.” Finland apologized, taking a seat in front of what was obviously a computer desk. “No problem dude. I understand time zone problems. I have like four of them and Vanya has nine.” Alfred dismissed breezily. “Eleven. I have eleven time zones, and you have six.” Ivan corrected between sips of his precious caffeine. “Close enough. We're both fat, okay?” Alfred retorted.

“Good evening, Mr. Russia.” Finland greeted, far less timid than he was with Alfred. Russia and Finland had always had a bittersweet exchange. They had tried to kill each other multiple times, only to be locked in stagnant dead lock. Other times, they were tentative trading partners, dependant on each other's tourists for survival. Then there was that time they were almost something more, a soviet Ivan encouraging Finland to become his own nation over several bottles of vodka. That was awkward to think about even now. The Russian's poor romantic attempts in the past, often while drunk, always haunted him.

“So...” Finland started awkwardly, scratching his neck. He seemed to gain nerve, more confident after a minute. “Since Germany is scaling down his contribution to the European Space Agency, I've withdrawn my own scientists as well. I do not share his views on Mars colonization. I think it is possible, no... inevitable.”

Ivan perked up at hearing this. At the world meeting, the reception over conquering Mars had been absolutely terrible. Germany and France, the unofficial masters of the European Union, had openly mocked the idea. Lesser nations wheedled around the fact that they were in total agreement, avoiding eye contact with a furious Russian.

“Any help at all would be awesome.” Alfred replied excitedly, while Ivan nodded silently. “Of course, if I commit national resources to such a large project, there would be conditions.” Finland continued, eyeing Russia suspiciously. 

In the end, Finland wasn't too unreasonable. He was going to throw the brightest minds his people produced at the monumental task. It was so the Finnish people's intellect wouldn't atrophy, but also out of thinly veiled spite to Europeans in general. All Finland seemed to desire in return was boasting rights and a seat reservation for one of his own cosmonauts. Considering they would be throwing seven people at mars on the first round, there was plenty of seats to bid over.

Ivan smiled, pleased at this new alliance. Where a bold Finland ventured, a conservative Sweden would follow out of concern. Once Sweden joined, a unstoppable chain reaction would take place. The competitive drunkard known as Denmark would follow, no doubt dragging Norway with him. Iceland, permanently desperate for cash and attention, would be hot on Norway's heels.

As the video call cam to a close, the TV was finally turned off. “He's not going to be part of the new world government once the colony thrives.” Ivan commented, putting down his empty tea cup. “Hell no. Mars will belong to you and me alone. We will own Mars, and Jupiter, and Saturn... Nothing is going to get in the way of our dream.” Alfred replied with absolute conviction. Silhouetted against the bright city skyline of nocturnal New York, Ivan's powerful lover was only missing a well timed maniacal laugh.

Feeling a shiver of arousal, Ivan couldn't help but react. He stood and draped himself over Alfred, asking softly “Then what happens?” “I guess we'd be an interplanetary empire of sorts then... might need a name change or two. Of course this is in like... a hundred years from now. By then, Europe is going to an over-farmed wasteland that's flooded half the year. And they'll crawl back and be like... Omigod America, pity us and give us stuff for freee! And I'll be all 'I'll consider it' while doing an impression of you without coffee.”

“We could be an interplanetary empire together?” Ivan asked between ravenous kisses to Alfred's neck and jaw. “Duh. Otherwise we'll rot away like the rest of – Oh wow you are super hard right now.” Alfred stammered mid sentence as Ivan pressed against him. The thought of conquering the entire solar system was enough to make Ivan drag Alfred to bed, straining with the need to make love. Ruling the solar system together forever... that was even more special. Russia would never be alone again.


	45. Chapter 45

Plastic and metal interfaces stretched the room, fitted with screens and keyboards. Indicators blinked and dilated. The room was an accomplishment of science, but merely a waiting room for something more. A honey blonde nation paced the mostly empty space, looking distressed. “Alik. Please relax.” Ivan soothed, entering the room.

“I can't, I can't. It's the day! Omigod it's the we've been planning for! Everything has to be perfect. Did the engineers start checking the boosters? I don't want another Columbus accident!” Alfred fretted, about to chew his nails again. Ivan hummed, not caring to think about the sheer amounts of cosmonauts that died in rocket failures. America had reason to worry. Space travel was horrifyingly dangerous.

“Wearing a hole in the floor won't make inspections go faster.” the taller nation teased, pulling Alfred close. “Repeat after me. Nothing will blow up.” Ivan ordered coolly. “N-n-nothing will blow up.” Alfred obeyed tentatively. “See? Nothing will blow up. You just said so.” Ivan announced confidently, giving a smile. America relaxed into the touch, closing his eyes. He probably hadn't slept for two days, though the Russian wasn't entirely certain.

“Let us have a nap before the press conference. It's at least three hours from now.” Ivan proposed, not giving his stubborn partner any other choice. “Fuck, I'm fine! I just need to make that everything goes well.” Alfred resisted, putting some force into his escape attempt. It simply wouldn't do. Over the years, Ivan had grown to equal him in strength and agility, yet never surpassing. Numerous object lifting competitions between the two had proven as much.

“Yes, nap time I think.” the ash blonde crooned, whistling as he dragged Alfred out of the room. Finland could be seen down the hall, having just arrived after a long flight. “Finland! Russia's crazy! You gotta help me get free!” Alfred appealed to his distant ally. The Nordic nation chuckled and shook his head, having heard that excuse before. Germany was not too far away near the meeting hall, directing camera crews and being his bossy general self. The strict nation appeared to be totally ignoring Alfred's plight.

Ivan stopped dragging a struggling America long enough for the stubborn fool to put on his snow boots and coat. It was winter outside at the Vostochny Cosmodrome after all. Giving up for the time being, Alfred allowed Ivan to drive them to the nearby town of Tsiolkovsky. Turning the heating in the SUV on, the exhausted blonde looked ready to pass out before they got to town. Owning a modest home in the area, Ivan pulled into their driveway. 

Considering Tsiolkovsky was between Washington DC and Moscow. It was another compromise, a purchase to make working at the newer cosmodrome possible. Otherwise they would have to stay in the only horrifyingly expensive hotel the town had, in rouble terms anyway. This house was tiny, awash with bright colours. Unlike Alred's now retro New York apartment, the house was cozy and busy looking. Ivan's years of prolific knitting had taken a toll on the space, every soft surface covered in patterned wool. A dozen of his less historical oil paintings were on the walls, both his and others. It was all very homey.

“God, I'm fine. Stop mothering me.” Alfred snapped tiredly, pushing Ivan away when he tried to undo the seat belt. Ivan growled but said nothing, not wanting to fight in the vehicle. Crossing his arms, the ancient nation glared at Alfred with a stony expression. He wanted to punch the stupid American so hard right now. Alfred was slightly less oblivious these days, cringing. “I'm sorry babe. I'm just grouchy for some reason.” he apologized weakly.

Ivan grunted, unimpressed, before leaving the vehicle. Alfred trailed behind, pleading “Oh come on. I said I was sorry!” “I'm fine.” Ivan hissed venomously, pressing the key fob twice to lock the SUV. When they were both inside and had shed their winter wear, Ivan stomped off to his office to distract himself.

After twenty minutes, he was still unreasonably angry. Anger management was something Ivan was normally great at, but today was not one of those days. There was a knock on the door, Alfred cruising in like he owned the place. Technically he did. “Hey hot stuff, feeling better?” the American flirted shamelessly. “No.” Ivan admitted sourly, glancing at the pile of destroyed pencils on his desk.

“Did I tell you, I'm seeing a really handsome hunk?” Alfred teased with a sly smirk. Ivan looked up in alarm, trying not to assume the worst. “Oh... I didn't tell you about him. Well you see... he's real tall, and fit. The sex is just amazing. Like icecream sundae good.” As the freckled nation continued, Ivan paled. Torn between soul crushing fear and homicidal jealousy, the possibility of Alfred cheating hadn't occurred to Ivan in the past few decades.

“I'm going to kill him. Tell me where he is.” Ivan threatened, standing and grabbing Alfred firmly by the hips. “You'd look silly trying to kill yourself Vanya.” Alfred purred, letting himself be posessed. Ivan blinked, not comprehending the statement “O-oh. You were talking about me.” he stated, feeling foolish. He had never needed to worry at all. “You have to stop doing that. My heart might fall out.” the russian sighed, enormously relieved.


	46. Chapter 46

“I love you too big guy. Now carry me to bed, I'm too lazy to walk.” Alfred assured, nuzzling Ivan's shoulder. “Yes, dear.” Ivan obeyed, not minding at all. He would complete most tasks happily and destroy any obstacles to do so. Carrying the spoiled american bridal style, he was careful not to hit his boyfriend's head on a door frame. Lowering Alfred to the bed, Ivan turned to leave. His needy charge trapped him by the wrist with an iron grip. “Stay?” Alfred begged with big blue eyes.

Ivan had a lot of work to do, and he was really behind. He tried to remember this, but found his willpower being sapped away. The delicious honey blonde was being so cute it was unbearable. Letting out a huff of silent laughter and joy, Ivan smothered the sleepy figure with kisses. “Mine.” he hummed, rolling onto the mattress. Stupid paper work could wait for now.

Ivan had fully intended to finish up last minute things while Alfred napped. Instead, he was woken up by his cell phone, startled from light rest. “... Hello?” he answered, groggy and confused. “I'm guessing you were distracted again?” the familiar voice of his latest boss replied somewhat sarcastically. The last guy, Petrov, had lasted a few decades before he died of a heart attack. The foolish human had enjoyed smoking and sweets more than exersize, paying for it in the end.

This new fellow was more formal, but at least took care of himself. So far he was alright, but definitely not Ivan's favourite. Homosexual rights was no longer an issue these days. The older human really didn't care who Ivan was in a relationship with, as long as he handed things in on time. Tardiness was unacceptable under any circumstances, much to Russia's ire.

“Yes, sir. However, everything is ready for the press meeting. Mr. Beilschmidt is directing camera crew and seating arrangement.” Ivan pointed out, proud he could say Germany's horrendous last name on the first try. “I'm aware. The German is wonderfully organized. Where are you?” his boss demanded, avoiding mangling the nation's surname entirely. “Relaxing at the house, but twenty minutes away and dressed.” Ivan noted dryly, wishing he was the centre of praise.

“I'm going to assume you know the whereabouts of Mr. Jones. I expect you both to be here in thirty minutes.” the human droned on, already boring his own nation. “Of course.” Ivan answered, not really listening anymore. Something about an unreasonable time line. It took at least ten minutes to wake up Alfred under normal circumstances. Sleep deprived and experiencing extreme caffeine withdrawal, rousing his companion would be more difficult than moving a mountain.

Conversation done, the Russian ended the call. Setting the device aside, Ian looked at the nation twisted around him in sleep. The sight was invaluable and heart warming. Sleep messed golden hair framed a youthful face. Insomniac Ivan often took the time to trace between each freckle, counting them like stars. Counting his blessings, Ivan thought, as he did the same now.

Moving on, Ivan felt the slender curve of Alfred's strong yet narrow neck. There was a faded hickey near the base, a faint shadow now. Yes, Ivan would have to renew his peculiar brand of ownership. His raging jealousy had never really calmed in fifty years. To stop the ash blond's possessive passions from destroying the relationship, he vented it ways the block headed Alfred wouldn't notice. Leaving barely visible hickeys was only the beginning. Ivan often gave deadly glares to anyone that looked at his precious sunflower the wrong way.

Running a hand over the clothed torso, he admired relaxed muscles beneath. Even sleeping, Alfred's body was lean like a racehorse. Going for a morning run every day certainly helped both of them keep active. Ivan's hand traced over that cute butt, giving the soft muscle a playful squeeze. The memory of parting them and pushing inside immediately sprang up. The Russian could feel Alfred's hardened cock against his thigh. Something else had sprung up too it seemed.

Completely ignoring work orders, Ivan grinned at the thought of gentle wake up sex. He couldn't recall how many times he was lifted from restful oblivion to waking bliss, Alfred speared on his cock with that shit eating grin of his. In more recent years, Ivan had been on the receiving end, but couldn't find it in himself to be angry. The American was too damn good at oral and foreplay for resentment to take root.

Ivan eagerly rolled over, flipping his tangled companion with him. Loose limbs flopped to the side as Alfred was splayed beneath him. The ancient nation quickly got to work, stripping off his beloved's black skinny jeans. Ivan was happy to see them in style again, for they hugged Alfred's body in all the right ways. It should be illegal for anyone else to wear them. Beach tanned legs and blue boxers were revealed.

The boxers were gone almost as fast as Ivan's own brown slacks. Prize before him, the Russian lowered his face to Alfred's saluting cock. The man-child would have to be at least a tiny bit more aware for this to work, since Ivan was not intent on wrangling rag doll limbs. A hot breathe ease out of the Slav with a silent chuckle, before he swallowed the entire erection.

Bobbing slowly on silky skin, Ivan took the time to taste. His precious American always tasted so wonderful, regardless of all the silly junk food he ate. Ivan had never minded this task in the least, happy to improve or try new things. Sucking and bobbing at a torturous pace, the lax body beneath him began to tense. Legs loosely twitched and rose slightly. A long shuddered gasp snaked out of Alfred as he became slightly awake.

Popping off the needy cock, Ivan smirked. Perfect. He shucked off his own tricolour briefs, grabbing lubricant from the bedside table. So close to getting laid, his reservations were thrown aside. Parking between toned legs, the Russian hitched one of Alfred's legs over one shoulder. Lube slick fingers found the handsome youth's puckered hole, practised and efficient. One digit slid in with no resistance.

Ivan chastised himself mentally for being so impatient, prepping his lover properly. Two fingers in, he stroked the long memorized spot deep inside. The gentle touch made Alfred's body tense as it rolled on it's side to accommodate the awkward positioning. It was all the permission needed. Finger withdrawn quickly, he re-positioned himself. Ivan felt hot as he lined up his own reddened cock, slathering it in lube hastily.

The head of his cock pressed at the loosened entrance, before slowing pushing past a partially taut ring of muscle. Ivan shivered and groaned, struggling to remain gentle. It was difficult to have any control while sheathed in perfect squeezing heat. Bottoming out, Ivan panted and gasped. He felt so hot, beginning to pull out. He didn't even make it half way before he thrust back in sharply. It couldn't be helped, instinct driving a rapid pace. All plans of soft touches and gentle intrusions were instantly forgotten.

Alfred was definitely aware after a moment, drawling out intelligible moans and gripping the sheets. The scene of it egged Ivan on as he drive into Alfred's sweet spot mercilessly. He built the pace faster, giving in to baser thought totally. The mounting pleasure in his loins was coming much too fast, but everything felt so right. Still, Ivan refused to come before Alfred did. 

Evidently, this was not going to be a problem. The American writhing beneath his ministrations was a hot mess, cock dripping all over the new sheets. When Alfred came, he wore an expression of utmost serenity, howling Ivan's name. The Russian became undone at this declaration, the lovemaking becoming brutally erratic. A moment later, Ivan cried out wordless sound as as he came. He stayed buried in his lover, savouring every shudder and sensation. As always, fate interrupted their private time.


	47. Chapter 47

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely ending suggestions. The name was also changed from 'Longest Rusame Thing I Have Ever Written' to 'Ambitions Beyond The Stars'. Admittedly the anon suggestion from Tumblr is much catchier.

The stupid phone rang, startling the still joined lovers from this precious moment. Alfred reached over blindly, grabbing both his glasses and the noisy device from the end table. Wordlessly, he passed it over for Ivan to answer. The Russian answered hesitantly, only after getting a thumbs up from a dazed Alfred.

“... hello.” he greeted warmly, a blushing mess. Ivan couldn't help himself when his precious sunflower was looking at him with such loving reverence. “I'm guessing since you can answer, you're not busy driving back.” his boss nagged. Still floating down from his orgasm, the Russian couldn't find it within himself to be irritated. “No sir, but we will be on time for the press meeting.” he replied cheerfully. “You seem in better spirits.” his boss noted. “Why wouldn't I be?” Ivan purred, hitching a breath as he was pulled down to the mattress. Feathery kisses to his sensitive scarred neck made him melt as his softening cock slipped free. “Very well. See you soon.” the human dismissed hanging up.

“You're so naughty Vanya. Not using a condom. Again.” Alfred whispered, pressed close. “You know I fucking hate that. Next time you're getting the hand cuffs as punishment.” he growled, sounding so angry and lustful at once. Ivan wore a lewd expression, not even pretending to be frightened. Handcuffs were so much fun. “By the way, that was a threat. You're supposed be like... oh don't whip me. I'm so afraid of pain. Or something.” Alfred giggled, dropping his serious facade.

Ivan huffed a laugh, rolling out of bed. “We need to wash up, my foolish boss expects me there in... seven minutes.” he commented, glancing at Alfred's phone. “Love you too... Jerk. Did you at least try being gentle? I have to like... walk around a lot and talk to people.” the American complain in usual childish manner.

“Oh, I can carry you Alik!” Ivan volunteered happily. The entire world would know Alfred was his! What a perfect plan! “Yeah... no. I'll get take some drugs, mister white knight. The entire planet isn't going to take us seriously if I'm tossed over one shoulder.” Alfred dismissed, wincing as he sat up. “I would carry you bridal style. You think so little of me.” Ivan scoffed, offering a hand.

Getting ready and out the door was akin to a comedy routine. The second one man got on track, the other would lose something. All the while neither nation could find the damn keys. It was Ivan's fault, though the proud Russian was loathe to admit it. He had been so angry leaving the SUV earlier that he totally forgot where he put them. Things like this happened. They argued, just like any other couple.

They made up quickly though. Ivan usually felt horrible after, bringing back small gifts to appease his mate. Often he would take Alfred out on a date or two. Chocolates, much like in the typical Russian tradition, were always great ways of saying 'please forgive me'. Alfred seemed over Ivan's lesser snap in judgment, already smiling.

“Babe. Found 'em!” Alfred called out from the small kitchen. “Where!?” Ivan asked excitedly, bolting over. The keys were on the counter all along. More appropriately, they were in the counter. The fist full of keys was wedged forcefully into the wooden counter top. Russia had been angrier than he thought when he set them down... again. They really needed to stop bickering during car rides.

“Are any important ones broken?” Ivan asked, trying to sound innocent. Alfred shook his head, and began wiggling them loose. A good yank later, the key ring was twisted to bits, but the keys were free. Good enough. The hurried couple had places to be.

The weather was terrible, the road worse. Ivan's boss was quite frankly, being a complete asshole today. None of this mattered. Today was the day Alfred and Ivan would see seven hardy astronauts and cosmonauts sent on the greatest mission of mankind. The colonization of Mars.

Horribly late for the press conference, Ivan and Alfred stealthily shuffled in. Behind the hungry pack of reporters, they observed for suspicious types while listening to their leader's words. Every word spoken was bright with optimistic hope for a better future. It was enough to move and inspire Ivan's often stifled patriotism.

“You hear that sunflower, joy for the future?” Ivan whispered, unused to hearing it from his own people in such volume. “I do. It's beautiful. It's so fucking beautiful.” Alfred replied with absolute reverence, holding the pale ash blond's hand tightly. Ivan squeezed back, heart speeding up with his peoples electric excitement.

The press conference, were it about any other event, would be boring. Today, the people of the world hung off every syllable of the live broadcast. This was a historic event, the first spacecraft launch with live humans that was never coming back. The international power couple used the public's fervour to slip away. Ivan and Alfred entered the sparkling clean control room, now lively and filled with people. Amidst the chaos of pre-launch instrument checking, they were hardly noticed.

Most the humans here didn't even know who the living nations were. Ivan was not surprised. This was officially the second generation of crew working this project. The first round of people had died of old age or had been forced to retire. Ivan never once forgot his leader's dying wish sixteen years ago. Petrov had been so disappointed he didn't get to see this moment with his own eyes.

For the admirable yet short sighted leader, Ivan vowed Russians would take the red planet at any cost. His own children would witness it in his stead if possible. Admittedly, Russia was relieved Petrov's spoiled offspring didn't take up the throne of authority. They were fairly incompetent. In Imperial Russia, Ivan would have been stuck with an entire lineage of bad eggs for decades. 

Finally the moment came. The big screen on the wall lit up, showing the absurdly fat spacecraft hoisted into place. The design wasn't pretty, but it worked. A literal bed of liquid oxygen booster rockets was in delicate arrangement around and below it. The operating room hushed as dozens of engineers and scientists focused intensely on their assigned stations.

“Cosmonaut Vladislav Cheshkinsky reporting. Buckled in and ready to start systems.” A heavily accented northern Russian accent echoes over the room's com system. The aging project director and his army of helpers sent an all clear signal for that specific station on the spacecraft.

“Astronaut David Walkley reporting. Buckled in and ready to fly!” a very enthusiastic American rang out next. “Good to hear, signal being sent.” the director chuckled in clunky English, amused by their youngest pilot.

It went on in this fashion, all the pilots sounding off and confirming they were ready. There was so many functions on a ship this large that the work load was shared with the crew inside. Later, they would also have to maintain the ship and keep it flying at the proper trajectory. Ground crew would help at first, but signals took nearly two minutes to reach Mars. Not helpful in a real emergency, from what simulations revealed.

Ground crew and pilots prepared, the balding director gripped the old style phone shakily. “Now, start systems.” he commanded, sounding braver than he looked right now. Seven affirmations replied instantly with variations of “Yes sir. Systems started.” The nervous human looked at his own men, and they gave a silent affirmation everything was in working order, yet again.

Although Alfred had begged and nagged for it, Ivan's people still refused to have a ten second countdown. The American's partner was inclined to agree, finding the tradition quite stupid. You launched or you didn't, none of this time wasting counting.

“Engage engines.” Ivan heard, not tearing his eyes away to see who spoke. “Engines engaged.” All seven astronauts complied. “Launch.” The director commanded, somewhere behind him. The boosters fired, absolutely blinding on the high definition screen. Ivan winced and looked away, deftly handed sunglasses by his clever American. Slipping them on, Ivan continued to observe.

It was the four longest seconds of Ivan's life. The booster rockets were vomiting impossible amounts of light and fire, but the ship wasn't moving. Shit! They couldn't possibly shove more on the damn thing with this bloated design. If this failed, Ivan was going to be so completely fucking pissed! Four seconds of eternity later, the massive ship started to push towards the heavens. It gained rapid momentum, punching through the sky with brutal force.

Gasping a breath he didn't know he was holding, Ivan felt a familiar hand squeeze his. The petrified Russian squeezed back, not looking away. Neither nation dared speak, lest they curse this historic event. The entire room was silent in this fashion, aside from confirmations and data read outs.

After eight long minutes, the colony ship had slipped the surly bonds of earth completely. They had done it. Nothing had blown up or been rattled loose from the rocket vibrations. Nothing shorted out. It was a perfect launch. The room exploded with cheer as men and women exchanged high fives, hugs, and cheek kisses. Tears of happiness were rampant.

Next stop, Mars.

**Author's Note:**

> Like what you see? Comment or leave a Kudos!


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